After the Vault
by Nutzoide
Summary: Out in what remained of the central US of A, a girl crawled crying from her hole in the ground. On a blasted and too-bright surface, how could she survive? Find out in... After the Vault!
1. From A World of Night Lights

After the Vault: Chapter 01

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

Story notes: This story takes place after the events of the original Fallout game, but no knowledge of the game itself is required to read it. I am simply using the Fallout universe as my irradiated playground, and exploring a possible central USA after the bomb.

Like the games it will explore several dark themes, contain heavy levels of violence and profanity at times, and feature situations that some readers (and some of the characters!) may consider unethical.

Updates may be sporadic, for which I apologise in advance. Finally, this story will feature lesbian romance, but I'm not about to apologise for that!

--

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 01

From A World of Night-Lights...

Lying on her bunk, her legs crossed and swinging idly against the wall, Abigail toyed with the little blue book that sat on her pillow, all the while bathed in the dusky glow of the room's single 40 watt light bulb.

The book matched every other diary that had been provided in the vault, with a yellow '42' emblazoned in bold, bright yellow type in the bottom corner, and at the base of the spine. The same number sat both on the left breast of Abigail's equally blue jumpsuit and in huge yellow numbers across the back, as it did on every one of the 1,999 other identical jumpsuits in Vault 42.

As fashions went it was rather criminal, but when there was nothing else to wear a girl got used to it. Especially since she had never known anything else in the way of clothing. That constant shade of blue, and that single bright number, was as much a part of life in the vault as 'Coca-Cola' had been on the surface, both before and after its atomic age re-branding. It was printed and painted and sewn everywhere and onto everything that had ever existed in their underground city.

Abigail only knew the 'Coke' brand (or 'Nuke' as it had become, a poor choice in her greatly more cynical, post war eyes) from that book in her hands. She had read and re-read it over and over since she had been six years old. Her late grandmother had missed the drink terribly when she and her family had first entered the vault, or so the diary told.

'October 23, '77 – Mom says we all have to start a new diary now. I'm inside the vault, because they said on the T.V. that the war started after all, and we had another bomb raid drill today. I hoped it wouldn't happen, because we were just waiting and nothing was happening. The bombs should reach us soon, but we'll be safe here underground. I wish more people came. Everyone was panicking too much and saying it wasn't real and not everybody came. Mom says we have to stay here for ten years. I'll be grown up by then. I don't want to grow up down here. Can't they at least turn the lights up? It's hard to write like this.'

Abigail looked up at the gentle light bulb. It seemed fine to her, but her grandmother had complained about it even on her deathbed. All the technology to make an underground city for a thousand people to escape from 'The Bomb', and they couldn't provide stronger light bulbs.

But, as Abigail had been taught, more than a few things had not gone to plan in the vault. Even from the start, of the 1,000-person capacity that the vault had, only 643 beds were filled before the great door closed.

The ten years that her grandmother had written of had passed slowly, but they had also passed silently, with no word from the world outside. The government of America, and the controller vault, had never made a single transmission. Ten years had become fifteen, and fifteen, for safety's sake, and become twenty. After that it had been clear that they were on their own, and with their Garden of Eden Creation Kit (tm) in their hands, the exploration party had ventured up the elevator beyond the very first floor, to the surface.

Not one of them survived. Her grandmother's account of it was almost illegible, but after thirteen years of study Abigail knew it by heart. The Garden of Eden Creation Kit (tm) had been one of those miracles of technology, like the AppleSoft Think Machine (tm) computer that ran the vault. It was to have been the instrument that would allow the vault to open and reclaim the nuclear wasteland that America would undoubtedly become. Micro terraforming and chemical atmosphere reprocessing in a single shining suitcase.

After taking the off-the-chart radiation reading from within the cave that hid the vault's giant steel door, the twenty man team stayed above ground only for the hour that the kit required to be made functional, and every one of them had taken the advertised dosage of anti-radiation medication. Twelve of them had made it back to the elevator before the horrific levels of radiation had killed them outright. Six survived the three-minute elevator journey back to the vault. Even with all the state of the art medical supplies within the vault, only two survived the night, to die the following day.

The door was sealed tight again, the elevator decontaminated, and Abigail's grandmother had cried throughout the hero's funeral that had been held for those poor, ill-fated men. The radiation had been stronger than anyone could have guessed, the Garden of Eden Creation Kit (tm) had been clumsy and difficult to activate, and the advertised dosages of preventative medication had been woefully inadequate.

The much vaunted G.E.C.K. had been activated, but the people of Vault 42 had been cheated. The Overseer, the ultimate human authority within the vault, made a public apology to the people he was supposed to have led to safety. He recorded his purging of the AppleSoft Think Machine (tm) administrative and government records and security restrictions, severing ties with the non-existent outside authority. He announced that they would become their own independent state, and apologised for his willing part in what he called 'the government of America's great vault fiasco'.

No one ever did discover just what he meant by that. He had taken his own life that same night, and had purged the evidence of his culpability along with the records. It had been a dark new start for Vault 42, but a new council of Overseers was voted into office, and though the ten years of generous expected supplies had run low a careful new system of rationing and vault maintenance was put into place. Faith in the Garden of Eden Creation Kit (tm) had fallen, so a new, longer-term view of vault life had been adopted.

And, most needed of all, the ban on the conception of children was finally lifted. If they were to survive, a new generation could no longer be thought of as a drain on finite resources. They would be the future leaders and maintainers of Vault 42.

And the scheme worked. The steady populace of almost 650 could be sustained with careful hydro-agriculture and diligent repair to vault systems. Only another two decades on, after a potentially lethal corruption, and the subsequent deletion, of the AppleSoft Think Machine (tm) automated protocols, did the Overseers finally send out another party to the surface to see whether the Garden of Eden Creation Kit (tm) had done its work.

It hadn't.

The radiation level had been lowered by the G.E.C.K, both within and outside the cave, but it had overwhelmed the vegetation, turning it into a gnarled and ropy forest of half-death. Worse, some of those burnt plants had developed animal traits, mutated by the burning atmosphere, and those toothy maws fed on the large and unhealthy looking rats that had survived and come to infest the new irradiated garden. The Bomb had won out over The Miracle.

Even medicated up to the maximum safe prevention dosage the four explorers all suffered from the radiation. Though they survived, they stood as proof that the surface was now a new incarnation of Hell. Only the knowledge that it could still support some form of twisted life gave them hope that the land might once again be colonised, many years from then.

Reading all those events in that unlabeled diary, the first inhabitants of Vault 42 lived such challenging and exciting lives. The drama and the intrigue lived on in those pages. In comparison her own generation, the baby boom of '43, seemed to live such a plain life. She was schooled in all manner of practical and theoretical subjects, and had been trained in her vocational field, inter-level maintenance, since she was of working age. When she could gather her friends they joined in with the regular shifts to the vault cinema to vote for an old slice of twenty second century Americana that they had not already seen thirty times before, or if alone she escaped from the repetitive films to the gymnasium to dance and climb and tumble around until she wore herself out.

And the yearly vault festival. While birthdays and Christmas were always occasions for communal celebration, it was the Festival that got the entire vault together. A full two-day party in commemoration of one simple realisation two generations before: Vault 42 was not a necessity to be endured. It was their home.

Abigail enjoyed the festival more than most, she would have said. With her thin physique and passion for athletics she was a decent candidate to be a vent technician, but she was already a superb stage performer. She had enjoyed her own festival spot on the giant tenth floor stage since the age of ten, either performing her acrobatics alone or with the other dancers in the vault. Now, at nineteen years old, she would spend months beforehand devising new and interesting routines for that short hour when she could entertain everyone that she knew in the entire world.

"Abby!" The utilitarian dormitory door slid upwards into the ceiling and her mother marched in, red faced. "Abby, have you turned your PipBoy off, or have you just gone deaf? Marcus has been beeping you for twenty minutes! Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is for him to have to call me in order to get you to work twenty minutes late?!"

Abigail looked over to see a shorter, sturdier version of herself. It was deeply worrying how much she had grown to look like her mother. At least Abigail had her dancer's plait, a strong and well cared for braid falling down past her waist and ending tied around a small, thick gold hoop, instead of the deeply unfashionable bob her mother wore. "I.. uh, I guess I forgot to turn it back on?"

She quickly pressed the power button on her wrist mounted data device, and the comic-book style Vault Boy character appeared with a grin and a thumbs up on the small, high definition green-screen before fading to show the time and the list of chores she had entered into it.

The first of which, her technical training, she was well overdue for. While she could crawl and slide through even the most awkward of the vault's access vents all day (and had done in her earlier years, much to the consternation of the technicians at the time) she found the mechanical side of the vocation far harder going. And she had less than a year - until her twentieth birthday - before she began working on it alone whether she was ready or not.

"Sorry Mom!" she sprang out of her bunk and down to the floor, sending her sheets and her long plait flying behind her. "I'll tidy it when I get back! I -really- didn't realise the time! And I know I shouldn't jump from the top bunk!"

She scooted through the door and past her identically clad mother before the older woman could put another word in. "No," the older woman muttered to herself as she stepped inside the bunk-room, "we both know who is going to be cleaning up after you."

She picked up the sheet that had floated to the floor. "And if you give me the 'I'm no good with mornings' excuse again you can fend for yourself tonight - from your own pocket - while your father and I are at the cinema. Honestly, the first time in weeks we can both book seats for a film without worrying about the vote, and you show us up like this."

--

Their underground city died that day.

The demise of Vault 42 was broadcast first to the technical control team as a single red warning light and a thin, reedy buzzer. Somehow, without their control, the surface door was open, and it wouldn't close. After a moment's confusion they sounded the alarm throughout the vault, and locked down the surface elevator.

Nothing human could have breached that door, and it was nothing human that had sought refuge in their cave, and found the entrance to their home.

Deep in the bowels of the access vent system, Abigail and her tutor Marcus both looked up at the sound of the emergency siren, and cracked their heads together in the confined space.

"Oww!" Abigail exclaimed, rubbing her aching forehead. "What was that? We aren't scheduled for a drill today!"

Marcus had come to the same conclusion the moment their heads had met, and he rubbed the back of his own as his throat went dry. "Then it's not a drill. Come on Abby, we have to get out of the pipe. Move."

Without another word Abigail did as she was told, and set her mind on the vent above her, crawling up the ladder and out as fast as she could to give Marcus room to do the same. Whatever was happening, she was the one who was in the way, and as one of the head technicians Marcus had work to do. They came out in the level four restrooms, and as soon as Marcus appeared from the hatch he had his hands at the PipBoy on his wrist. "Marcus here, what's happening guys? We've got a life support failure?"

"I wish!" came the grainy voice through the PipBoy speaker. "Heads up for the public announcement, and do what you're told Marcus. You too Abigail."

So, it wasn't a mechanical or computer failure. For a brief moment Abigail found that reassuring, until her wits caught up with her and she realised what it meant: it wasn't something that Marcus or any of the maintenance or repair staff could fix. This had never happened before. Not even to her grandmother.

The siren cut out, but the red warning lights continued to spin as the vault-wide speaker system crackled to life. "Attention Vault 42." It was the voice of Overseer Jameson. "This is an emergency situation. The surface door has been breached. According to the vault sensors, there are only four beings responsible, and they are at this moment climbing their way down the elevator shaft. They are not human, and are emitting notable levels of radiation, but they would have to be at least partially sentient to have destroyed the vault door, probably with large quantities of high explosives. We do not know how much they might have left, or how they may be armed, if at all. All physical security personnel arm yourselves for severe close action and take up your positions. However, you are to attempt to make verbal contact with the intruders one time, and one time only. If they do not reciprocate, exterminate them. We don't know what they may be, so take no risks.

"All children and educational personnel, take refuge in the level ten auditorium. Secondary security and full team technical personnel, arms yourselves as per civil defence procedures and prepare to hold level ten. Everyone else, take refuge in the standard emergency areas, and be prepared to barricade them. The Overseers will meet you there. Be calm people, and think clearly. This is just a precautionary measure, but be prepared."

Abigail looked to her tutor for guidance. "Am I full team technical?"

"No, you are -not-, Jinx." He ignored her scowl at the unfortunate nickname, and flashed her a smile. "You still can't re-wire anything without me holding your hand. I'm amazed the Overseers let you anywhere near the computerised areas. If we gave you a weapon it'd probably blow up in your face."

"It's not my fault!" Abigail retorted reflexively, swallowing hard with worry for her older work-mates. Several of them would be taking up arms on the lowest level, both from the limited armoury and with improvised weapons from their line of work. And Marcus was making fun of her? "I -do- try and I'm -not- incompetent! It's not my fault if God hates me!"

"Of course he does, you never go to chapel," Marcus quipped, trying to ease her obviously frayed nerves. "And no, I'm not saying it because your bad luck is infectious. No-one even cares about a few unfortunate coincidences besides you – well, you and Alfy Parker, but he should have been more careful. This is about the rules Abby. Get to your emergency area and keep their spirits up there, because they'll need it."

Abigail managed a smile. She had needed the reassurance, so she could forgive him bringing up those past embarrassments. He was a decent guy when it came down to it. She turned to go.

"Abby," he called after her, "stay alert. You know this isn't 'just a precaution', right?"

Abby nodded from the doorway. She knew she wasn't the quickest girl off the mark unless it wasn't a euphemism, but after six years studying under him she had learned a few of Marcus' realistic, analytical sensibilities. "Yeah. If they just wanted to meet us, why wouldn't they use the control panel out there and ask to come down, right?"

"Good girl. Go. And tuck that pigtail in before you catch it in a door!"

--

By the time Abigail reached the central corridor on level 4 it was already deserted. Each level was, essentially, its own little town, with its own necessities, such as schoolrooms, technical station and kitchen. The emergency areas had been re-designated before she had been born, so that each Overseer would take control of one kitchen per level, from level four to level nine. The tables had been unbolted from the floor, so that if needed they could be tipped over to give cover. That left the armed security team with the first three floors if the surface elevator and the main hallway between that and the main vault elevators could not be held. For a society that never expected to even hear from the surface again it was a thoroughly planned compromise of the original vault-invasion defence plans.

Abigail assumed, with three floors and ten fully armed, armoured and trained security people, that it gave her enough time to get to her sixth level evacuation point the fastest way: the vault's own elevators. They would only get locked down in the event that the first line of defence was compromised, and even the access vents were easier to use (and for Abigail, quicker) than the emergency stairways between the levels.

Neither she nor the main security team expected the intruders to rip through their fully equipped greeting party like a fist through tissue paper. The first intruder had not even given the team leader time to finish his one attempt at diplomacy before it levelled its minigun at him, wielding the huge weapon in only one hand, and tore both him and his backup man to shreds.

The team lasted only twenty seconds once the firefight broke out in full, so when Abigail called first the left elevator and then the right, they were already coming down - from the first floor - and stopping alternately at each one.

"No," she whispered to herself. Both of them should have been on the tenth level still. "They couldn't be..."

The right hand elevator stopped on level three, and when the left came down to meet her she found herself staring up into it. Behind the doors stood the biggest creature Abigail had ever seen. It was almost a man, but stood hunched over at ten feet tall and was as wide as the full span of Abigail's arms, made of nothing but muscle and thick, unhealthy green-brown skin. Huge crooked teeth protruded from blackened gums as it heaved and panted in the confined space. Each elevator had a capacity of twenty men, but two of those things would have filled it. Maybe three if they all breathed in. It wore patches of scrap armour made of metal sheet, bolted to thick straps of leather to hold it together, but even so from the look of it the creature had taken three full shells of buckshot across its areas of unprotected skin, and Abigail could only guess at how many pistol bullets had hit their vast target.

"Damned humans..." it wheezed in a low, guttural voice as it looked down with beady but apathetic eyes at Abigail, who stood petrified in front of the door.

It was then that she registered the wide, cylindrical, six-barrelled gun that the blasted hulk held in its right hand, and the bent metal pipe that hung from the fingers of its left. Only then did the fight or flight response fill her brain, and she ran before the thing could even raise the gun to fire at her.

Even though she was gone the creature didn't bother stopping, and a loud whine started up before a hail of lead tore down the level's main corridor. The weapon lit up the hallway so brightly that even though Abigail was fleeing, its repeating flash almost blinded her. The gentle lights of the vault were nothing compared to that long, sharp yellow-white light. In the back of her mind Abigail thanked her terrible, infectious luck for once, because the weapon stopped firing suddenly, jamming with a crack of metal meeting metal, and the hulk-creature swore with another tired wheeze. She also thanked whatever impulse it was that had made her run to the left and towards the technician's room rather than back down the main hall, because if she had she would already have been smeared across the walls.

But most of what filled her mind was panic. Those things were inside Vault 42, and they had killed the best of their security teams so quickly. Even barricaded in the kitchens, how could any of the evacuation areas hold up against that kind of monster?!

Behind her the creature threw his gun out of the elevator, and stepped out just in time for the other elevator to reach that floor. Abigail almost screamed as she heard another of those impossibly deep voices.

"There is no-one up there," it grunted, far more forcefully that the monster Abigail had seen. "And I heard your gun. Have you found them, Gazor?"

The monster Gazor huffed and spat out a mouthful of deep red blood. "A girl. She ran off. Why did you shoot them? We could have bargained for their lives, and now I am full of bullets, and Luthar is dead from them. And I see nothing but shadows in these tiny night-time lights."

"This is -our- vault now," the strong, angry monster roared back. "Everythin' is ours! They don' have to give it. We can take it!" He levelled his own huge gun at Gazor. "Go down, find them, and kill them all! I'll find this girl, and everyone else hidin' here. And maybe you will see better down there," it sneered.

The Gazor creature just stared at the other monster for a moment, before picking up its gun and getting back into the elevator. From the doorway to the technician's room Abigail began to shake in panic. Now it was the more insane of the two monsters that was on her level. And its gun still worked.

Abigail really had the worst luck in the world, and only when it mattered. The second this new creature started towards her she retreated into the room properly, locking the door the moment it slid back to the floor. There was now a barrier between her and the creature, but the clean swish of the door had also let it know exactly were she was.

She retreated to the ventilation shaft just in time. The leather brown monster-man smacked against the door a few times, and when the door did not rise for it, it unloaded its belt of ammunition into metal. It took a moment, and the peppering of dents that finally appeared let Abigail know that the door wouldn't hold. When the creature's weapon had spent its load a single kick from its huge booted foot tore open the brutalised steel like it had been tin foil.

"I see you, little human girl!"

Abigail was down the vent like a ferret in its run, already to the bottom and under the floor before the monster had even reached the hatch. She took a moment to catch her breath. There was no way that hulking brute would be able to fit into the vent system, and she hoped it was too stupidly hostile to realise where the pipe had taken her.

The monster just jeered at her, reloaded his gun, and shoved it down the pipe before firing off another blast of bullets that turned the vent wall, floor and access ladder into Swiss cheese. Even though she was a good two feet away from the tearing metal she still scrambled back in fright, silently begging not to be hit.

Then, just as shockingly, the terrible sound cut out, and the whirr of the rotating gun barrels slowed to a stop. "Heh heh, stupid humans can't run away." It almost sounded like an evil, bass singsong of a threat. Then she heard something clatter down the shredded vent. A small, egg shaped something, that a second later spouted out two great gouts of smoke. The creature was trying to smoke her out, or choke her to death, and this was exactly the reason that the pipes had to be evacuated in any kind of emergency. That single grenade could flood out a full quarter of the vault's vent access. She scrambled forward and kicked it further down the pipe, to the next drop that lead to the lighting and air recycling systems between the floors. That would give her some time to escape the smoke, she hoped, and it would not filter through to any of the evacuated groups because the air recycling was a closed system.

What smoke she had breathed burned her throat though, and made her eyes water and her head swim. Above her she heard the hulking mutant-man swear. "Fuck it! Where's the fire and bang!? Stupid grenades all look alike." He huffed and spat down the shaft before slamming the hatch closed to keep the smoke inside. "You can choke there, stupid human girl!"

And, Abigail realised, she would. She was among the fastest through those pipes, but she had been hyperventilating in panic – she still was, and she couldn't stop it! – and she had breathed too much of the thin smoke already. The stupid creature hadn't realised it, but since she had kicked the grenade down between levels this smoke would be far more effective than any belated explosion. It was not just a smokescreen she realised as her vision began to blur from more than just the tears in her eyes, it was some kind of nerve gas as well.

She reached the far side of level four's under-floor crawlspace and some relative safety from the worst of the smoke before, coughing and sobbing as her panic gave way to bleary-minded and terrified hysteria, she thankfully passed out.

--

The first thing to scare her when she woke was the darkness. Even after spending her entire life living and working under the meagre shine of 40 watts – a bedside lamplight by her grandmother's standards – waking in total darkness brought her aching body and foggy mind back to attention with a jolt. She never woke before the lights came back on in the early hours of the morning. She just couldn't handle early starts. And even on those rare occasions that she had been dragged from her bed, there were the tiny guidelights by the doors and along the edges of the corridors, which rarely ever blew and so could be left on for safety's sake without worrying for their conservation.

But the pitch blackness, and then the cold, hard metal beneath her, and then the silence; the whole terrible memory came flooding back to her. Those huge green monsters had broken into Vault 42, her only vault, with weapons that she had only even seen in the cinema.

The brown monster's deep, barking words came back to her.

"Go down, find them, and kill them all."

Worried adrenaline flooded her brain again. How long had she been asleep? Were those creatures still there? Could the second security team or the emergency barricades have actually fought off those hulking giants?

Was there anyone left alive?

And in contrast to all her fears, as she got to her hands and knees and began to crawl to the nearest pipe hatch, she thanked God that she was still alive. Had that grenade been an explosive, would it have given her time to kick it away? Had the less crazy monster not stood wounded and staring at her in the dim light for so long, would she have had time to run before his first brief hail of gunfire had torn her apart? Had that smoke been truly toxic, or a lethal nerve gas, would she have asphyxiated in her vent pipes and never woken at all?

Above her fear for everyone she knew and everyone she cared about, she was relieved that she had survived. Even though she did not know whether they had managed the same. Putting her hand to the access ladder back up to level four, she paused just long enough to be sick across the vent floor because of it.

She wiped her mouth as she emerged into the first aid bay on level four, and forcibly ignored those selfish thoughts. She had to be worried about her friends now, and her family. She made straight for the kitchen, hoping against hope that the green-brown monster had not been able to make good on its threat.

The second the door slid upwards, it was clear that it had. Even though her stomach had emptied and her mouth still tasted of bile, her cry of horror was cut short as she retched up what little had remained inside her. The long steel tables had been dented beyond recognition, and even tossed about the room in a way that would have taken five or six men to re-arrange.

And the blood. It wasn't a kitchen any more, but an abattoir. Abigail had been right. Even fifty men and women could not defend themselves with a single gun and some kitchen knives against that creature and its evil weapons.

The tears began to flow freely down her face as she wiped her mouth on her blue jumpsuit sleeve again. "Gillian? 'Trish? Overseer Jahera? Someone answer me!!"

Only the single dull echo from the huge room replied, and Abigail fled from the bloody spectacle, and the sound of her own harrowed voice. She ran back to the main hall, trying desperately not to look at the bullet holes and the large, bloody boot prints that she followed to the elevators.

She tried to dry her eyes as she waited for it to arrive. She needed to steady herself, and not faint as she got inside. She had to be strong. Her parents were on level six, and even though she knew what she would see, she still had to see it for herself. She had to hope that they had somehow survived.

She burst into tears again when the elevator began to play its light jazz rendition of the old classic 'The Girl from Ipanema'. She screamed at the machine to turn it off and the elevator did so, the calm synthesised female voice pleased as ever to do as it was asked. That only made Abigail cry harder.

By the time the elevator reached level six her legs had lost their urgency to get her to this level's kitchen. She plodded down the main corridor as though walking to her own execution. The bloody boot-prints tracing up and down the corridor killed what little hope had remained in her. In the end she did not even open the main kitchen door. She just activated the room's communicator by the door's controls.

"Is anyone in there? Please, anyone..."

She waited for two minutes in silence.

"Anyone..."

Then she realised she had to see it. Someone might have been injured, but not killed, and unable to get to the microphone, but she regretted it the moment the door slid up. Blood coated everything. No one coughed or twitched or called for help amidst the gory mess. One of the monsters' huge miniguns lay discarded against one of the tables, either broken for good or with no more ammunition to fuel it, but it had not needed it. The monster must have used another weapon to finish them off. Something blunt and heavy, but Abigail could not bring herself to look any further, or guess what it might have been.

They were dead; that was all that mattered. It would be the same on every level. Any other survivors would have hidden away from the emergency evacuation areas, like she had done.

But the second security force, and the armed technical team, might have made a last stand down on level ten. It was another last hope to keep her searching for survivors, and she walked slowly back to the elevator. She cried still, and harder than ever, but her cheeks could get no wetter, and her sorrow and grief was giving way to dull numbness. The scale of it was too much to be sorry over. It was now an event outside her comprehension. The corpses strewn about the kitchen were no longer people she could recognise. They couldn't be if she was to keep going and remain sane, so that part of her mind was simply shutting down. She was an outsider in a war zone.

Though she had never lived anywhere else, Vault 42 didn't seem like home any more. That was what scared her now, more than anything else. Even more than the monsters.

When the elevator doors opened again it was a more detached eye that viewed the carnage in the hallway. She retched again at the smell of the blood that pooled across the floors and dripped from the walls, but it was more a physical response than anything else. She was in shock.

The guns, welding lasers and other tools that the defenders still held had obviously not been enough. She saw Marcus still lying in his point position by the data archive doorway a few meters in. He was more intact than some, but still the line of bullets up his chest must have been what killed him. It would have been quick, and in her numbed haze she felt gently thankful for that. Others had not fared so well, being bludgeoned or crushed to death, and several had been set alight and stank of burnt meat.

She knelt down next to Marcus' slumped body and pulled it from the wall, into a tender hug. She didn't notice how it bled into her jumpsuit. "Thank you for trying, Marcus. I'll miss you."

He had been a good and dear friend to her, she thought as she lay him down on the floor. In her six years of training as a maintenance technician, slow and difficult training, he had been one of the few members of the technical staff she had become real friends with. When they were all so busy and so consumed by their work, it was hardly surprising, but she wished she had made more effort to get to know them.

So they had not managed to hold out. It wasn't their fault. She felt sorry for the teachers and children that would be lying dead in the vast amphitheatre at the end of the main hall, but she could not bring herself to go down there. She would not have been able to take any more.

Then, as she trudged slowly towards the main AppleSoft Think Machine (tm) control room, she heard a deep voice. Two of them.

The monsters were still there.

"Whut take Boss so long? We wait for hour now."

From what little Abigail saw before she pulled back from the branching corridor, the monster that spoke was larger than the other two she had seen, and greener. Fully and completely green, with several of its crooked teeth missing, and a huge jowl and neck that bristled with odd wiry hairs. And it could not talk even half as well as the others, but held a weapon that looked much more delicate that the miniguns that the other two had wielded – like an oversized, carefully plumbed propane burner.

"We are not waiting," Gazor, the brutalised one, replied, sounding so much more intelligent even though he was obviously in a great deal of pain. He looked even bloodier than when Abigail had seen him in the elevator. "'Boss' is not coming. He wasted his ammo, and now he is dead. He did not think little human knives could cut him. He was wrong."

"Oh," the slow one replied. "Good for t'em. Boss was stupid as little humans. Not t'ink ahead. Whut good is vault wit' too small lights, and all decent t'ings used up? Was waste of time. Good to get out of stinging air t'ough. Never t'ought radiation ever be strong to sting like t'at."

The monster Gazor only nodded in reply, and spat out some more blood that had filled his mouth. "You're right. This was all pointless."

"Hey, you not look so good. You take meds now. Maybe they fix holes in you some?"

"... I doubt it."

Abigail doubted it too. The monster bled from so many holes, and whenever he had spoken she'd heard the blood gurgling within his lungs. It sounded pretty hideous, just what the bastard deserved, and from his reply Gazor knew it wasn't good for him.

Then Abigail heard the whirr of the minigun's six barrels winding up to speed. The conversation had brought her back to the real world again, and she began to panic. Had they found her?

"Whut you..?"

Then a few shots were fired, and Abigail jumped to find herself still alive, and still safe behind the corner of the main hall.

"You not suppose to blow own brains out all over Kazal!!" the idiot monster raged a moment later. "Gazor stupid! Gazor should have taken meds. Now more meds for Kazal. Has less holes to heal too. Now Kazal has vault all to self. Even if is dark and used up vault."

Somehow, as the Kazal monster had talked to himself, Abigail had found her fear and nausea turning to rage. This was her vault. This was Vault 42! And they called it useless!? They broke in and took away everything that she had ever cared about, and then decided it was all a waste of time!?

She walked away from the retarded creature with a purpose. The main security force had taken most of the armament, but the pointmen had left their sidearms for the secondary team and the few decent marksmen in the kitchens to arm themselves with. The main team's backup had even left a couple of shotguns for the secondary team to use, and just kept their pistols to cover their teammates with from behind. The shotguns were far more powerful, but too imprecise to be used properly from the rear line.

In her dazed and dream-like state Abigail had managed to dry her eyes, but her tears flowed once more the moment she laid her eyes on Marcus and his teammates again. She couldn't look at them. Not broken and chewed up by the bullets like that. She just knelt down next to her tutor and friend, and eased the shotgun from his cool fingers. "I'm sorry," she whispered with a sob.

And then she was gone, gun in hand. She had no idea how to use it, or even if it was still loaded. Could Marcus have used all, what, five or six shells, before he had been murdered? She could only guess that his death had come quickly, and the gun was still ready to use. And she was going to use it. She would make that mountainous green ape pay for destroying her precious underground world.

She was blinded with rage, but she still had the presence of mind to stop when she came to the corridor. That monster could tear her in half bare handed, and it had the fire-weapon. The seemingly small crowbar it had played with in its other hand was probably less of a danger than the creature's fist itself.

But it was no longer facing her. Instead it had turned to rummage in the sack beside it. All Abigail needed to do was move quickly and stay silent. Her blood thumped through her head like a jackhammer in fear and vengeful anticipation, but she barely made a sound as she padded swiftly and unnoticed up to the great green thing, and pressed the barrel of the gun into the back of its bald head.

"Whut..?"

She did not give it time to turn around, and pulled the trigger the second it had made that questioning sound. The bright flash of the gun blinded her, but worse the weapon slammed back into her with such force that it swung her around and flew from her hands. The trigger guard caught her finger painfully, but the pain that flooded her shoulder and chest overwhelmed that. She screamed, but both in pain and triumph. The creature in front of her bobbed where it sat, a gaping red crater in the back if its skull. Whatever brains had been inside had turned to mush, the shot embedding itself in the front of the monster's thick skull.

Abigail nursed her shoulder as the thing slumped over. The heavy ache glowed through the right side of her chest. She didn't think it was broken, but she had done some sort of damage to herself, and bruised God knew what. And she laughed as she realised the monster's blood was dripping in small speckled rivulets down her face. She laughed so hard she began to cry.

Her pointless revenge had been carried out, and she just had to let out her frustration and grief before she died from it. With a final fit of futile energy she grabbed the crowbar from the creature's dead fingers and smacked it against the monster's tough hide, but that only made her cry harder, and seemingly did nothing to the thing's skin.

After a moment the bent tool fell from her fingers and Abigail tried to organise herself. The main computer could still help her, so strung out and at her wits' end she walked down the corridor to the central room, trying to rub the blood from her face and chest as she went.

She found the AppleSoft Think Machine (tm) still working, and activated its own voice command system. "Perform a vault-wide census scan please."

The calm voice of the computer, male this time, replied. "Emergency user recognition system bypass is active. Please state your name and census designation."

Whoever it was that had activated the emergency access protocols, Abigail thanked them. "Abigail Iseley, designation..." she paused, willing herself not to cry again. If she did the computer might mistake what she said. "... designation 'Jinx'."

She never had found out who had altered her last full census submission, four years ago. She would have been able to change her identity designation back in only another five months, when the next full scale census was made in the new year. The normal yearly census and occasional birth, death and marriage submissions were always much smaller affairs, but a full census paper could take days to complete, it was so comprehensive. Right down to their sleeping patterns and working relationships.

"Vault wide census scan initiated. Scanning. Please wait, this could take several minutes..."

Twenty seven seconds later it spoke the results. "Possible census total, seven personnel."

Abigail shuddered. Only seven people, out of over six hundred, on the most inaccurate scan. "Please remove all results based on open and currently accessed utilities." Then she though again. "No, cancel that. Please report which areas registered defined life signs, including all access vents and non-civilian areas."

"Please wai-One area. Level ten, room zero one. Main AppleSoft Think Machine – trademark of AppleSoft corporation and Vault-Tec Industries – control room. Possible occupants, two."

Abigail reached for a nearby chair before her legs gave way beneath her. Possible occupants... Even after telling it that she wanted a record of life signs and nothing else it still told her that someone else was accessing one of the machine's own boxy main terminals. One of the Overseers had logged on, no doubt, before he had left for his or her doomed evacuation area. Abigail had not known it was possible to cry so much in so short a time, but she did regardless. She was the only one left. No one else in the vents, or locked in a restroom somewhere. The computer's sensors could be temperamental and its reports unnecessarily vague, but never inaccurate enough to miss a life sign reading from a whole room or maintenance area.

So, that was it, she thought. The silence was deafening. What was she supposed to do now? Vault 42 was... dead. She couldn't run the place alone, and it was full of her friends and family. She couldn't go into the kitchens again. She didn't know if she even had the strength to make it past Marcus' body again, and all that blood. She couldn't clean that. Not all of it. All of -them-.

She rubbed the cuff of her jumpsuit against the drying smear of red on her cheek again, not realising it would not get any cleaner. The sleeve was just as stained as her skin was.

--

Eventually, washed, clothed and safely isolated in the clean second and third levels, she realised there was nothing else to do. She would end up starving to death in her own vault. The kitchens on those two levels were clean, but she could barely set foot into one without seeing the blood and the bodies in her mind. And what food there was had been stored for mass preparation, not for one girl trying to feed herself.

She lived on snack food for a few days but she soon found herself weak and getting sick from the lack of nutrition, and her few attempts at cooking in the giant kitchens had been disastrous, and even dangerous. She should have trained as a chef, not a technician. She might even have been good at it, if she had just learned where to start. None of the stores had cooking instructions, and when she foraged into the hydro-farms on level three she could only watch the plants slowly dying from lack of care.

In Vault 42, it now seemed, everyone had their part to play to keep them all going, and every part had been needed. After all, their families had lived there for almost a hundred years in a home designed to support only a single generation for little longer than a decade. She had lived a much more vulnerable life than she had ever realised.

Either she wasted away in Vault 42, or she would have to do what her grandmother had done all those years ago. She would have to leave home. A home whose corpse would soon begin to fester, whose edible crops would wither, and whose ghosts of friends and family would surely drive her insane as she cried herself to sleep each night in someone else's empty bed. If she wanted to try and live on, no matter how slim the chance was on the surface, she had to leave.

Abigail tried to be rational about her decision. She braved the walk down to level five, and to the main hospital, to stock up on medications, and to collect every anti-Radiation drug she could find. Many of them had been used up but after looking through the hospital records she found an almost full bottle of Rad-X pills, and enough RadAway drips for ten people in critical condition. She resisted the urge to throw the hatefully branded medicines across the hospital floor, and shoved them into the pack that she had taken from storage. No matter how many dark stories she had grown up with, and how many times she had read grandmother's feelings of betrayal over those names, those were the drugs that might allow her to survive on the outside. Maybe even long enough to find other human survivors.

As she packed she knew she was lying to herself. She was just delaying the inevitable. It would be so much easier, she knew, just to take one of the pistols that lay with her peoples' bodies, find her family in that gory mess one level down, and end it all beside them.

But in Vault 42, they had been raised to believe otherwise. Ever since the founding of the vault as its own state, it had always been about survival. They would survive the betrayal of the outside world because they had to. They would survive against all the odds, and keep their vault running, because they -deserved- to survive. Coming to the vault could never be allowed to become a waste of all the trials and the work that had led them to that point.

So Abigail had to try and survive. She had to be the sole heir to everyone's efforts, because if she died, it would all have been for nothing, and the first Overseer would have been proven right when he took his life.

And Abigail was still afraid to die. She was only nineteen years old. She had been legally capable since the age of sixteen, able to begin her vocation, but was still not a full adult in the eyes of the vault, or else she would not still have been tutored for those years in between.

She packed lightly, leaving most of her own possessions in her locker, which still sat at the foot of her old bunk. Instead she read up on what she could and should take – rope, a good knife, a supply of good water and long life foods – everything she could think of and still be able to carry without it slowing her down. That was much harder than she thought. For all her acrobatic training she found her physical strength wanting. She could lift herself up by one hand, but she was thin girl, and not overly tall with it. Then again, while she was not muscular her body was lean and well trained. What strength she did have would not abandon her after the first few hours of carrying her pack. She could practice the parallel bars for hours on end, after all. That had to be worth a little confidence in her staying power, as long as she could lift the thing.

In the end, the only extraneous items she took were books. She had to learn how to survive, and how to be of use as more than just an acrobat. She could not keep the vault running alone no matter how much she studied - the maintenance team alone was 37 people, not including herself, and they rarely found themselves with time to spare on their shifts – but if there were people out there she would have to be able to offer them something. Ever since she had accidentally shorted out a part of the air recycling unit she had been supposed to repair her faith in her hard earned technical skills had plummeted. That was why she had needed Marcus to keep tutoring her, and why she knew she couldn't rely on those skills now.

And she took medicines. Those would surely be highly valued on the radioactive surface. Stimpaks – one-use anaesthetic, antiseptic and clotting agent shots, which were hailed as a milestone in common medicine just before the war - would help her tide over any injury. After grabbing those she carefully selected a dozen other specific medicines, as well as making up what she thought would be a good first aid kit. Even though she knew little first aid beyond the basics.

In the last of the space in her backpack, along with the bulky, improvised medical kit, she took what little technology she thought might be of use. A Geiger counter, with wireless link to her PipBoy, and a pistol. She took a few minutes to figure out how the Geiger counter worked, because finding her way out of the worst of the radiation above ground might be the difference between life and death up there.

The pistol she didn't bother puzzling with. Despite what she had said to Marcus back then, she didn't trust herself not to blow her own fingers off either, but maybe it could be a good deterrent. After years with a nickname like Jinx, she doubted anyone would have blamed her for thinking that way. She marvelled at herself really. She had developed a real complex about it, and yet she was preparing as if she actually expected to find anyone up there that would take her in. As if she expected to survive for more than a few hours on that radioactive crust.

So, with her two bags packed and her stomach in knots, she set off to die on the surface. She tried not to look at the corpses that still lay at the entrance to the surface elevator. It was a long walk to it from the two vault elevators at the other end of the brownly bloody hallway. Amidst the week old slaughter a yellow-green giant, wearing nothing but leather rags, lay face down. Unlike the bodies around it, the creature had yet to begin decomposing.

After everything she had lived through, and a week of haunted nights alone with her nightmares of blood and bullets, Abigail managed to keep her meagre lunch down. She kicked the body as she went past. "Bastards!"

"Computer," she said by the blood covered door, "please activate the surface elevator."

Abigail had made sure to disengage the lockdown, but keep her emergency command access active, and the door slid upwards as she had asked. The journey upwards was longer than she expected, but then she supposed her home had been buried beneath three million tons of earth. It gave her time to read the directions on the bottle of Rad-X pills.

'Rad-X – For the prevention of irritation, poisoning, and chronic genome mutation from exposure to weapons grade radioactive materials and their after-effects. Not for use against lower grade, naturally occurring or medical sources of radiation.

'Directions: For average expected levels of nuclear fallout, take two tablets with water ten minutes before exposure to lessen or eliminate all negative effects. For high levels of risk, or chemically mixed nuclear agents, a dose of three or four pills is recommended. For continued protection during extended exposure, repeat the dosage every twelve hours, until no longer at risk. Do not use continually for more than ten days, as dosage beyond that time will become harmful.

'Warning: Not to be given to children under the age of 16, or women during pregnancy or while nursing.

'Important Warning:...'

Abigail gave a derisive laugh. As if the first warning hadn't been important, she thought, before she continued reading.

'Important Warning: Exceeding dosage or duration can cause epidermal, oral, intestinal, urethral, rectal and stomach irritability, infertility, temporary or permanent blindness, liver and kidney failure, muscular spasms and paralysis (including heart failure), and temporary or permanent mental impairment. Please use responsibly.

'Rad-X was provided for your safety by ChemoCorp, a radio-chemical and pharmaceutical subsidiary of Vault-Tec Industries.'

"Yeah," she said to the bottle, pouring the pills into her hand, "fuck you too, Vault-Tec!" It didn't matter that Vault-Tec had been behind the construction of every vault in the US, and prepared everything within them. Right then, as far as she was concerned, the only thing Vault-Tec had given her that was worth its advertising was the PipBoy strapped to her wrist, currently displaying the readout of her Geiger counter and her nervous pulse on two separate halves of the tiny green screen. And that wasn't even their own product.

As far as the pills were concerned it was safe to say that the dose on the bottle was worse than useless. The second team who had gone to the surface in her grandmothers diary had been out only half an hour, after taking the maximum dosage, and they still suffered through months of treatment for radiation poisoning, and several disabilities for the rest of their lives after that. After reading the plastic bottle she wasn't convinced that the Rad-X hadn't -caused- some of those disabilities, but what choice did she have?

The records from the doctors that had treated those men said that to last the proper duration of the dose, under the levels of radiation those men had been subjected to, she would have to take at least seven pills at a time, and she would still suffer some compounding radiation poisoning the longer she stayed out. Maybe some of the radiation had corroded away in the last sixty years, but she could not bank on that.

The elevator lights flickered and it lurched suddenly, causing a couple of the pills to fall from her nervous grasp. The capsules were large and fat, red on one side and white the other, with that wretched Rad-X logo in tiny print on each side in the opposite side's colour. She popped two in her mouth, all she could swallow at once, and gulped them down with a little water from one of her flat canteens. Then another two, and another two, and another two.

Feeling ill after forcing them down her throat, Abigail finished the elevator ride with double the safe maximum dosage slowly finding its way through her stomach walls and into her body. She purposely sat in the elevator until the ten minutes were up, just to make sure she was doing -something- properly with the drugs, before she left for the vault door.

Even in the abandoned upper control room, Abigail could feel a prickle in the air. Like the tanning machines that no-one had ever really used down in level eight's recreation hall. So that was what radiation felt like? It wasn't even as hot as the tan-beds - hardly anything at all when she actually thought about it. Maybe, miracle of miracles, the medication was working?

Though she had never seen it, she recognised the vault door immediately as she walked down the cylindrical hall towards the outside world. The giant steel cog, easily twenty feet across, could be nothing else. It lay face down on the cavern floor, one side covered in scorch marks that had actually torn one of the immense teeth clean off, and buckled the track just enough for those muscle-bound monsters to tear the door from it. Even so, and even as strong as those creatures had been, it must have taken all four of them do manage it. It just looked so immensely sturdy, even lying wrecked there. Surely with a man around every inch of the circumference, they would not have been able to lift it from the floor.

Then, as Abigail stepped out into the cavern, the wave of radiation hit her. She knew the heat of it even before feeling the sun on her skin. It was -hot-. In her blue and yellow-stitched jumpsuit she had walked into a dry sauna that sucked the air from her lungs. She looked at her PipBoy Geiger counter reading, and though the number made no sense to her, the needle pointer image was not even hovering at the high end of the scale. It had stuck itself fast there. And even after the G.E.C.K. had tried to clean up the air.

She forced herself to stagger forward into a walk, towards the ropy vines that lined the cave floor, just to stop herself falling over. That was it, she realised as she walked through the remnants of the Garden of Eden Creation Kit (tm)'s efforts. She was going to die.

The wiry vegetation had been beaten back, by the giant monsters no doubt, and as she walked she saw a white lump glowing by the wall, with more glowing material lining the rocks above. What kind of fallout had been scattered here? And as she passed she realised that it was not metal or glowing moss, or those damnable burnt roots that criss-crossed back and forth. It was a body. A body that glowed as brightly as the light bulbs within the vault. White skin and salmon pink flesh had fallen from its body, and its dry, spilt blood glowed on the walls. And it was person shaped. Dead and decayed, but human, and not one of the giant monstrosities that had murdered her friends and family.

There were still people out there. The exploration teams had never said anything about glowing bodies when they had ventured outside, and that body had worn rags of cloth and leather, not the remnants of a vault jump suit. There were people out there, but what had the radiation outside Vault 42 turned their dead bodies into?

There were more glowing corpses at the other side of the cave, but Abigail did not care to see them. If she was to live she had to move, and keep moving, and pray that the radiation would not kill her like it had those poor souls before she found someone. Anyone would do. Anyone that could help her.

So she walked towards the bright light that was the mouth of the cave. A light so bright that she could not even see what the outside world looked like. A brightness that consumed her as she experienced the sun for the very first time.

And it hurt her gentle blue eyes. It hurt them so much that she closed them again, and walked viewing the sun through the glaring pink shield of her own eyelids. It was a new bright world that burned her skin and parched her throat, and whether open or shut, her poor sensitive eyes could see none of it.

If she had to die, she hoped sincerely that it wouldn't be like that; blind and heavy and burning. Just once, before she died, she would like to see another person. Just one, who could tell her that humanity still lived.

Then, maybe, she could die content.

--

To be continued...

--

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Peter King and Richard King for their proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2008


	2. Wastelanders

After the Vault: Chapter 02

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

--

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 02

Wastelanders...

Abigail was alive. At first, waking in the darkness, she feared that her terrible ordeal, and the week of desperate sorrow that had followed, had just be a dream or a fevered hallucination, and that she was still lying in her vent pipes with those great green monsters violating her home.

But she wasn't cold against the metal vent floor. She was hot. Perhaps she had died after all, and this was her own dark, fiery Hell.

Put that wasn't it either. She hurt, but it was not the pain that befitted her for escaping the fate inflicted on her friends and her family. For abandoning them. It itched, and ached, but as she tried to count the sensations in her body she realised she could feel a draught of warm air pass across her. If fact, she felt it so clearly, she realised that she must have been naked, wherever she lay.

She tried to swallow to ease her sudden nervous tension, but there was no spit in her mouth, and her throat spasmed in pain. Her tongue tasted of copper bearings and vomit. She whimpered audibly as she tried to cover herself in the darkness, only for her muscles to burn in objection, and turn that whimper into a loud cry. It hurt to move. God did it hurt; there was fire in her belly, and an iron nail straining in every muscle. Why did she hurt, and why was she naked, and for God's sake where was she?!

"Hey, Chopper! Hey, get over here! Vault girl's awake!"

She heard those words from somewhere in the muffled distance, but they didn't really register with her. Despite the warmth of the air she was shivering, and she didn't know if it was fear or something else more completely beyond her control. Gritting her teeth she bore the pain in her limbs and back and stomach, and tried to sit up, or at least roll away.

The stinging in her skin intensified when a hand grabbed her moving shoulder, and forced it back onto the hard... floor? The hand didn't feel large, but it held her down with such ease that maybe she was lying up within easy reach. She screamed. That shoulder had still been tinted green with bruises, and the muscles still sore from the heavy impact the shotgun had made against it when she had blown that bastard monster to kingdom come. And it hurt even worse than that as someone, or something, pinned it down.

"Stop it! Let go of me! What are you doing?" her screaming made her cough, and pain filled her dry throat again. "Who are you? Why can't I see you?"

She swung out with her other hand, only to have it caught by a much larger pair of hands, and someone grabbed her kicking feet and held them down as well. She was surrounded, and helpless, and their hands stung so badly against her bare skin. Then something hard pressed against her forehead, and a woman's voice spoke into her ear, clear and cold.

"I am holding a gun to your head. Stop struggling, or I will kill you. Do you understand me?"

Abigail froze, petrified. The pain in her body hung on in her tense limbs. Was she going to die there, blind and helpless, after everything she had tried so hard to endure?

"Nod your head if you understand me," the woman's voice repeated.

"Chopper!" a lighter female voice exclaimed, but Abigail was too focused on the sound of the cold woman, and the metal against her forehead. She nodded, trembling.

"Y-yes. P-please don't kill me."

"Good," the Chopper woman replied, and the hard metal was taken away. "From now on do exactly as I say. I am trying to help you, but you are just going to injure yourself if you thrash around like that. And I'm not going to try and heal anyone who makes me work for nothing. Understand?"

Abigail nodded again. "A-Alright. I understand." She slowly let herself go limp, and true to Chopper's words her muscles slowly let go of their vicious aches. "But," she added as the smaller hand was removed from her bruised shoulder, "w-where are my clothes? And why can't I see? Was it the drugs? Am I b-blind?"

Chopper and the others, they sounded like one girl and a couple of men, all laughed. "Blind? Maybe," Chopper's mocking voice answered, "but I wouldn't know. You were walking with your eyes shut when we found you, and you'd probably passed out already. You collapsed right into Kyle's arms as soon as he touched you. I wrapped up your eyes because of the blisters."

Chopper paused, evidently thinking. "Then again," she said, "your pupils weren't contracting properly either. Now that you've woken up I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"What, you serious?" one of the men asked, mirroring Abigail's quiver of concern. "She might not see after all? Damn."

Chopper didn't make it sound like anything to be concerned about. Either that or she just didn't care. "She got off lightly, if she got through that much of her Rad-X bottle on her own. Don't you know the meaning of 'overdose' girl? You're lucky you're not dead, or twitching like a mantis."

Another man spoke up after that. "Did you seriously think you could cross the Cobalt Line? Because that's where you were coming from, girl. You can't just knock back some Rad-X and expect to come out the other side."

"Kyle!" The lighter woman's voice again. "She's from a backwards vault-town, or maybe even a closed vault! She was still wearing that suit! Maybe she just didn't know, did you think about that? I mean, look at her!"

Abigail trembled, feeling far too exposed to these people, and tried to cover herself again only to have the Chopper woman's hands restrain her. They would be looking at her all right, and she couldn't return the violating favour. What did she look like to them? "My clothes..."

"Don't worry, you haven't got anything we haven't seen before," Chopper said, followed by an afterthought. "And the men won't try anything. They're not the rapist type."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," the gruff one replied sarcastically, but it didn't do anything to make her feel better.

"Just lie there and try to rest up," Chopper continued. Then Abigail felt a long, sharp pain as something was pulled from her arm. Had she had a needle in it all that time? "That was the last RadAway pack I want to give you after your last overdose, but this," another jab, "will work for the pain, and the RadAway after-sickness. Try to sleep through it, and we'll give you some food and take off the blindfold when the sun's gone down. We'd better not risk your eyes after what I saw of them."

"I..." Abigail stumbled over her foul tasting tongue. Now that Chopper had mentioned it she didn't feel too unwell, but behind the aching in her muscles her head throbbed a little. An after effect of the drug, according to the packets. "Thank you."

Chopper made a noise of approval. "Heh, listen to that? Even a vault dweller can show more gratitude than you bastards." But despite her harsh words, she said them light-heartedly. "Now get out and let her sleep. You shouldn't even be in here Rathley, so take your wandering eyes somewhere else."

The gruff man huffed and Abigail heard a rustle of cloth. "It's a damn shame. She's kinda small, but that's a decent body." His voice faded. "At least she ain't goin' ghoul."

That tremble of fear sitting inside her was fanned by that parting comment, "What happened? What's wrong with me?"

"I should say 'a lot', but you got of lightly, girl. You just look like you've been lost in the wastes a while, which I'm guessing isn't far from the truth. It might take a bit, but you woke up, so you'll heal. Now shut up and let the shot put you out. The sooner we get you up and about the sooner we can break camp, but you might as well sleep out the meds 'till sundown."

Her saviour made it sound as though she wasn't worth her time until Abigail heard another rustle of cloth. "And you're welcome."

Abigail lay blindfolded, naked, and alone, or so she guessed. She couldn't hear anyone now, at least. And true to the Chopper woman's words she was feeling drowsy already, despite her aches and her questions, and it wasn't long before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

--

She woke again suddenly, when a sharp pain flared across her right arm. She cried out, and instantly remembered where she was. "What was that?! That hurt. Uh, Chopper? Is that you?"

"You remembered," came the dry voice of the unknown female doctor, "I'm touched. Are you planning to sleep all evening as well as all afternoon?"

Abigail found her stomach turning over in nervous excitement, and a fair amount of hunger. "It... doesn't hurt as much now. Can I get up?"

"Slowly," Chopper advised. "And try not to fall off the table."

Abigail felt the light sting of Chopper's hands against her shoulders as the doctor helped her to sit up. Her legs fell down, over the edge of the table she was evidently perched on. "Can I ask, where am I?"

"In a tent in the wasteland," was Chopper's flat reply. "We're camped up as close to the Cobalt Line as we dared to stay, thanks to you. This is our third night here. If you hadn't woken up by tomorrow we'd have slung you over Rathley's back and got going."

Abigail winced as the bandage around her head was tugged and unwrapped. Chopper wasn't being to gentle about it either. "Ow! C-Chopper, that hurts!"

Just then she heard the lighter female voice cut into the tent. "Chopper, you're not brutalising her are you? Oh for God's sake..."

The tugging stopped, and Abigail heard a little scuffle. "Sia, she's -my- patient!"

"And you've got the bedside manner of a pigrat! Get out and leave her to someone with a bit of tenderness!"

To Abigail's surprise Chopper didn't put up much of a fight, and soon enough a much more gentle set of fingers finished unwinding the bandage around her eyes. "She's a good doctor whatever the men say," the new woman, Sia, said, "but she doesn't know the first thing about caring for her own patients. There you go."

Abigail tried to blink, her she could still see nothing but darkness. "I... I still can't see!"

"Hold on, your eyes are still shut. Let me clean off all that muck, and then try to open them." Abigail felt a damp cloth against her eyelids. It stung as Sia wiped the dried 'muck' from them. "Ugh, you poor thing," Sia commiserated. "At least the blisters are gone. Just a little more."

Abigail sat as patiently as she could, trying not to twitch away whenever she felt something come loose from her sensitive skin. She tried hard not to think about the pus that must have covered them.

"Okay, try now."

This time, when she tried to blink, her eyelids did as they were supposed to, and she saw a pair of vivid emerald eyes looking back at her. Abigail broke into a huge smile. She could see! The candle in the woman's hand was dim and cast a poor, stark light, but when the blurring faded she could see as clearly as ever. "I can see!"

The young woman smiled back at her warmly. Her skin was darkened by a vivid tan around her face and neck, and across her hands and forearms, but Abgail had never seen an incomplete tan without tan lines before. The colour just faded beneath her truly bizarre yellow-greenish clothing. Her slender face and her too-bright toffee brown hair - thick, ragged, and brushing her shoulders, like something from an golden oldie rock band - were dirty as well, but she did not look like her condition mattered to her in the least.

"Hi, I'm Sharn! What's your name? Or do we get to keep calling you 'Vault Girl'?"

In contrast to Sharn's (or wasn't it Sia's?) lack of concern about the state she was in, Abigail was all too aware of her own appearance. If her eyes had been sealed shut with dried pus, she must have been a state, and she covered her chest with her arms. "Abigail. Abigail Iseley."

She had been so grateful to see another living soul again that she had stared at Sharn's dusty face like she had been an angel. But, once she had torn her eyes from Sharn's own, she looked down to see what had become of herself. Her bare skin was hideously red, as if she had been rubbed raw, but her hands positively flamed with angry, peeling skin where they had not been covered by her jumpsuit. And no doubt her face was the same. The hideously bright sun had burned her skin badly, so much so that they were not simply red by the candle-light, but almost painted in day-glow marking ink.  The sides of her feet looked raw and wounded as well, though she only felt a minor ache in them as they hung just above the floor.

Sharn ducked down to meet her gaze again. "Hey, it's okay. You look a bit rough now, but you'll heal right up. Ohup, just close your eyes again Abee-Gale, you're bleeding."

Abigail reached up to touch her face, and felt the blood trickling from her eyelid. Her breath quickened, but Sharn brought the cloth up to dab it away.

"There you go. See? Just a little cracked skin."

But Abigail's walls had already started to corrode. Her relief had finally caught up to her, and without that pain to keep her controlled she began to cry in earnest for the first time since she had left her empty vault.

"Oh, baby," Sharn cooed in sympathy for her, "it's okay. You're okay now." She put her arms around Abigail, and though it stung her skin, Abigail was grateful for someone to hold as she let go of her pain and fear.

--

Abigail did not cry herself into exhaustion, she had already slept too much, but when she was done she could smile again at the young woman who had comforted her. "Thanks," she said, once she had composed herself as best she could. She pulled back and felt like an awkward fool, sitting there naked and burnt to a crisp, sobbing into the arms of someone who she didn't know, and who couldn't possibly understand why she had cried so hysterically. But she was grateful for it.

"So what happened?" Sharn asked, looking genuinely sympathetic. Though her face was dirty, she had clear and honest eyes, and Abigail did not hesitate in speaking the truth.

"Monsters, giant things with guns... They broke into our vault. They killed everyone."

Sharn looked at her with concern, and Abigail didn't know whether she believed her or not, but she acted as though she did. "And you escaped alone, and came through the Cobalt Line? Your vault was still underground?"

Abigail nodded, letting it all escape her. "We couldn't leave. And we didn't want to. The Radiation was too bad; even the stupid Garden of Eden kit didn't work. But I couldn't keep Vault 42 working on my own. I would have died if I stayed. If I was going to die anyway, I had to try and find people up here."

"Well, you found us," Sharn comforted. "And the monsters? Are they still in your vault?"

Abigail's eyes darkened, and her face set in anger. "I killed that bastard! We killed one when they broke in, and the injured one blew its own stupid head off, and I did the same to the last of them! And I hope the people that did it cut the evil one up slowly! But..."

"So," Sharn summarised for herself, obviously thinking it over, "you were the only survivor then. You poor thing."

But by now Abigail had to wonder if the woman wasn't just humouring her. Did she just think it was a fanciful tale or hallucination? However, before she could claim the truth of her story Sharn smiled again, and it instantly made Abigail reconsider her budding distrust. With that smile, and in Abigail's emotional flood, Sharn could have persuaded her that chocolate wouldn't even melt in her mouth.

"Come on Abee-Gale, let's introduce you to the others, before they think I'm keeping you for myself." She pointed to the bag in the corner of the tent, which Abigail recognised as her own. "Your clothes are there, and some boots. I bet they're too big for you, but you can probably put them on better than the tight things you were wearing. Make sure to tie them so they don't rub on your blisters." She gave Abigail a last reassuring look before leaving her to dress herself. "I'll tell them you're coming. Shout if you need help, but I know Chopper's painkillers are really strong, so I'll leave you to it."

Abigail didn't know whether to call after her and ask for help, or to be grateful for the privacy at last. She looked down at herself again. She was getting skinny – or skinnier – and in the pale darkness her skin looked more tender than raw for the most part, but she wasn't too hungry and she didn't actually hurt unless she prodded at herself. Remembering how she had felt when she first woke up, she guessed that the shot she had been given was doing its work.

She eased herself off the table gently. In fact, looking at it, it didn't seem to be a table so much as it was three planks of wood that slotted together, two planks at either end holding up the longer, wider third. And no wonder Abigail had felt cold. There was a hole in the table surface just below the centre, in which sat a shallow pot, roughly at groin level, which Abigail could easily guess the reason for. The tabletop was also the most unpleasant shade of red-brown, until it reached the edges and the strange colour of the wood could show through. She didn't want to think what kind of surgery had been performed on it in the past, because it looked to have been unpleasant.

She winced as she walked to her bag. Her feet were tender against the sandy floor, thanks to her rows of blisters. The tall, room-like tent allowed her to stand upright and stretch herself out, for which she was thankful. She needed all of that room to pull on her jumpsuit without it rubbing too badly against her skin. It only stung, but it was a discomfort she still tried to avoid.

The boots were worse. She could put them on easily enough, but they would not tie tight enough not to rub her feet. In the end she went without, and just pulled on a pair of socks she found by the bag, hoping that their owner wouldn't mind. They at least helped cushion her against the ground.

After that all she had to do was muster up the courage to pull back the tent flap. Then she would see the surface of the earth, and the moon, for the first time. The thought excited her. She knew Chopper had said it was a desert, there would probably be nothing to see but sand and sky, but she had never seen the sand and the sky for real. And she would see her rescuers, all of them, and what on earth could she possibly say to them?

Then, as se was mustering that courage, she heard Sharn's loud exclamation.

"We are -not- going to sell her! I can't believe you're even thinking about this!"

Abigail's enthusiasm died instantly.

"Kyle, tell me you're not seriously considering this!"

The male voice she had heard before, stern but far less gruff than the other, replied, and now that she was trying to listen in Abigail could hear their conversation in full. "It's an option, Sia. This run has been piss poor, and if we end up wanting to cut her loose, we should at least try to make something out of it."

"Kyle!" Sharn, or Sia, said, sounding appalled.

The other man, Rathley if Abigail guessed correctly, spoke up. "Hey, she'll be a pretty lookin' pet when she heals up some. I'd rent her, if she weren't so scrawny."

"Oh shut the fuck up, Rathley!"

"Serious, what if she's a drama queen, or some weedy little damsel after livin' in a vault all her life. I mean, come on, you said she was still safe and all pampered up underground! She's not gonna know the first thing about real life!"

Abigail could hear Sharn bristle. "And she'll learn. She must have been schooled down there. She's probably got more book learning than you two jerks combined."

"But what's she been schooled -about-?" That voice was Chopper. "I went to Vault City, down south. They were schooled all right, and they were the worst collection of bureaucratic, paranoid and elitist relics you could ever hope not to meet."

"Oh, fuck you Chopper, fuck all of you! She survived the Cobalt Line and you're not even going to give her a chance!"

"Sia..."

"No Kyle, don't 'Sia' me, and don't expect to be getting any for a long time either! I'll tell her not to bother coming out to meet you bunch of pricks!"

"Sit down Sharn, we're not deciding anything." Chopper again. "I'm not letting go of her until she's fit, and if she really recovers fully she's not ending up in a flop house. I wouldn't waste a body like hers that way."

Abigail would have run right there if she had known where she might run to. But there was no bunk room to flee to, and no library to hide in, and no gymnasium to take out her anger on. She was exposed, without the safety of her vault walls around her.

She stepped out of the tent on tender feet. The surface, it seemed, was dark. A bright fire lip up the campsite, but little else beyond the few large boulders behind the fire, and the tent. Abigail tried to look out beyond them, but the white sand, no longer blinding, simply disappeared into the darkness on every side.

But the stars, they were more beautiful than Abigail could ever have dreamed. They hung soulfully and small in the black sky, but glittered with a gentleness that Abigail had so badly needed just then. And they never seemed to end. They simply trailed to every unseen horizon, their patterns only broken by the thin, majestic sliver of silver that had to be the moon.

 Abigail swallowed dryly, holding back her tears, and padded towards the sound of the voices. They were right. They owned her now, if only because she was completely at their mercy beneath that endless sky.

The four of the surface people sat around a camp fire. The air felt clear and cool, not like the burning air she remembered from the cave outside the vault, or the blinding desert beyond, but the fire was hot as she approached. The combination of fire light and the ineffectual moon lit everything in a gentle, but highly contrasted glow, casting curious, waving shadows past everything at odd angles, and the flickering firelight seemed brighter than her vault lights by comparison, though it was only small.

"Abee-Gale!" Sharn, or Sia, or whoever she was, stood up suddenly and ran to her.

Abigail looked into those trustworthy eyes with trepidation. "You're going to sell me?"

"No baby. Whatever you heard just then, ignore it. They're being pricks, and I won't let them. I told them what you went through, and they do understand."

"Don't coddle her, Sia. She's seventeen, at least. She's no child."

Chopper's voice came from the figure who had only looked over briefly, before turning back to the fire and the cup she was stirring. She, like Sharn, looked dirty and dusty, and wore the most bizarre clothing, but unlike the younger woman the dust on her features looked as though it made her old, so Abigail couldn't tell her age from just that glance.

"I'm nineteen," Abigail said, though her voice held none of the defiance that she had wanted it to. What, in the end, would have been the point?

Sharn gave the woman an unimpressed look before taking Abigail's burnt hand and pulling her to the fire. "Ignore her. Come on and sit down."

Abigail winced in Sharn's grip, "Ow, that hurts!"

Sharn let go immediately. "Shit, I'm sorry. Come on, sit down here and meet everyone. They can't get rid of you once you've made them like you!"

Abigail swallowed hard at the mention of being sold again, and her dry throat felt sticky and uncomfortable. A fact that Chopper noticed. The fire-lit woman stopped stirring the tin cup and held it out to her. "Drink this first. And drink it slowly. I tried to feed you when you were out, but your stomach's in bad shape. It's just this and root paste 'till you can handle real food."

Abigail took the cup. It smelt of saline, and putting it to her lips it tasted of the same.

"Drink it," Chopper insisted, and Abigail nodded in agreement.

She did. It tasted horrible, and wasn't just salt water. It was slimy. She did drink it as slowly as she could, given the foul taste, but she wasn't even finished when she began to gag on it.

"Keep it down if you can," Chopper said, watching with a wry smile.

Abigail dropped the cup as she coughed, spilling the last dregs of the nasty liquid, but after a few dry heaves she managed to keep it in her stomach, and she spat out what little acid saliva filled her mouth, to make sure it stayed that way.

"That was cruel Chopper," Sharn berated, but the woman just watched with amusement.

While she tried to keep her stomach under control, Abigail returned Chopper's gaze. She wore the same kind of strange clothing as Sharn: all oddly stitched yellow-green leather and cloth. But while Sharn's made a short jacket to cover her arms, which left a tight and grubby top to cover her midriff, Chopper's was a full coat, buttoned up. And they both wore tough trousers, Sharn's tight and Chopper's loose around her legs.

But that's where the similarities ended. Chopper had to be ten years older than Sharn, who Abigail guessed was in her mid twenties or so, but as she had already noticed, Chopper probably looked older than she really was, because of the dust and sand that covered her. Her hair was also much neater and longer than Sharn's, lush chocolate brown underneath the dirt and actually brushed away from her face, and cut away from her eyes and ears. It was plain and greasy, but it seemed to fit. Her face was rugged, but in the way that Abigail's mother had used as a complement for a good looking man, rather than as a pejorative. Her skin was also not as tanned as Sharn's around the face, but still looked weathered, which was way it seemed to hold the dust so unfortunately.

Sharn, standing up, had seemed to be Abigail's height. A little short maybe, but Sharn was obviously less skinny and better built; still lean, but wider everywhere, and especially across the hips. Chopper, in contrast, was above what Abigail knew as average height for a woman, and though she wore her coat she seemed to be sturdy and well filled out beneath it. Her face and hands gave the same impression. Underneath the coat she was probably not thin, and would have a proper woman's shape rather than the careful, lean muscle that Abigail could see on Sharn's stomach and arms.

Chopper wasn't exactly attractive. Sharn, for all her dirty skin and her wild mane of hair, was attractive. Perhaps it helped that Sharn had been the first of these ragged surface people Abigail had seen, and had been shown to be caring beneath that untamed image. Chopper was more... She had a smirking cast on her face; a look in her eyes that held some sort of unsettling animal quality. And unfortunately, Abigail guessed that the animal was the kind to toy with its victims. She felt threatened by it, like a sick mouse being tended to by a stray cat.

"I'm sorry," Chopper said, still smiling. "But I did warn you. Don't be surprised if it hurts like hell coming out tomorrow either. Your skin isn't all that needs healing."

Abigail blanched.

"Don't worry. The meds in that water should help."

Looking down at the cup she dropped, Abigail decided she would try and be more careful with the next one. Which she guessed was the point.

"Chopper, haven't you said enough? Abee-Gale, this is Chopper. She's a bitch, but at least she'll keep you alive."

Abigail decided not to pursue that description. Especially since, with that look in her eyes, she didn't trust Chopper not to slip something into her medication, or just to stop treating her altogether. "Um, it's just 'Abigail'. Or Abby."

"Well then Abby - that sounds better - these two bastards don't deserve an introduction, but since they are going to behave or end up miserable for a very long time, they're Kyle Montanya on the right – he's got a normal name like yours - and Rathley on the left."

Kyle on the right was the younger of the two men, perhaps a little older than Sharn. He was also the cleanest of them all by far, and it did him a lot of favours. He could even have been called handsome, and if he was Sharn's partner or husband it was easy to see why on looks alone. For someone who lived in a desert, he could have passed for a properly groomed vault dweller if he had only worn the jumpsuit. He was well built for his height, which was tall but not so far as to be too intimidating, and had a very flattering jaw line, which he had taken the effort to shave. His hair was bleached almost white, and cut in close to his head, so it spiked up and inch or so because, like everyone's hair, it was so unwashed.

Then, jarring against that appearance, was the very broken tooth in the lower left side of that flattering jaw. It was such a small flaw compared to those of the other desert-battered three, but that was what made the sight of it crawl in her skin. He was the one that looked -normal-.

He wore what looked like a leather and hide chestplate, with a tattered leather jacket which, while battered and torn up down the front and back, did at least cover his arms. Similar leather and hide pads had been buckled around his thighs, over a faded and dusty pair of jeans, or something similar.

"Hey, don't mind the talk, Abby," he said. His voice did sound strong and hard, but put to his face it made him seem less dangerous than she had assumed from his voice alone. But Abigail was not at ease with it. He might have been cleaner than the others, but he was abrupt, and Abigail could not forget the harsh words he had used when she had still been blind.

"We're not planning anything," he went on. "Chopper and Sia aren't going to let you go anyway, at least until you're healed. Whether you like it or not."

They were reassuring words, but they still dredged up her powerlessness against the four of them. She felt like a lesser being, even as he seemed to try and ease her worry.

Sitting a few feet from him Rathley flashed her a smile. "Well, apparently I ain't got a normal name," he said, his gruff voice sounding far more friendly now she was looking at him, "but it's the only one I got, Sugar."

Sharn gave Abigail a helpless look. "Don't take that personally. To him you're either 'boy', or 'old timer', or 'sugar'."

"Eh, I'm no good with names," Rathley said with a shrug. "It keep me civil with these sensitive types around."

Rathley was much older than the rest of them, but he had the same problem that Chopper did, in that the dust clung to his face to make him look older still. He could have been thirty five or fifty for all she could tell. Either way, the desert showed on his skin, taking him beyond rugged and into weather-beaten and craggy - to a point that scared her, deeply highlighted as he was in the shadows from the fire. He also had several prominent scars on his face, one across the ridge of his cheekbone and the other straight down his chin and lower lip, so that a glimpse of his yellowed teeth showed, especially in his smile. His hair was black and weather blown, longer than Kyle's but still cut short, and greying freely around his fringe and ears.

He had a sort of roguishness in his wrinkled eyes, but it was a self-knowing one that, like Chopper's animal magnetism, was more unpleasant than flattering. It was a selfish and self-satisfied charm that he seemed to think would get him what he wanted, and only because he wanted it. As it was, he looked like he was happy just to admire the view, which consisted of herself and the still annoyed Sharn, and it made Abigail shift uncomfortably in her seat.

He didn't wear armour like Kyle, but just a pair of battered trousers and a short sleeved shirt, which looked to have been stained by everything from charcoal to blood at one point or another, and several odd, lurid colours Abigail could not even begin to guess at. A couple of deep scars showed through small holes in that shirt, and Abigail didn't like to think where either had come from.

"And Sugar over there calls herself 'Sharn'," Rathley said, pointing to the young woman in question, "but she's Sia to everyone else, and don't let her tell you any different."

Sharn shrugged. "It's a long story, and it doesn't really matter. And if you can remember my name, 'Old Timer', then use it. Anyway, out here in the desert, we've got to look out for ourselves. Chopper's our doctor, Kyle and Rathley play at being big tough men, and I get to talk us out of the messes the three of them make, because I'm the only one smart enough not to mouth off at our employers."

"I see." Actually, Abigail didn't see at all, it was a bit much for her to take in. She was still worried about what the quartet would end up doing with her. Of them all, Sharn was the only one who had even managed to make her feel safe, and even she looked wild and dangerous when that trustworthy smile failed to appear.

"Well," Abigail said, working up the courage and taking the four pairs of eyes on her as her cue. "I'm Abigail Iseley, from Vault 42. T-thank you for finding me."

Kyle nodded, looking thoughtful. "Glad you got out of there. A vault in the middle of the Cobalt Line – it's no wonder no-one ever found you, stuck out there."

Abigail felt the salt water in her stomach churn. "Those monsters did."

"Doesn't matter to them where you are," Rathley said darkly. "If they want to, those Deathclaws'll get you."

Abigail was about to ask, but the other three rolled their eyes and Kyle threw a rock at the greying wanderer. "Screw your Deathclaws old man. You're too old for fairy tales."

"And no-one ever told me Deathclaw stories where they had guns," Sharn added, bluntly. "Abby, your monsters had weapons, right?"

Abigail nodded. "Big miniguns, like in the films. And a flame-thrower I think. They..."

She didn't want to think about that any more. If she did, she'd either start crying again or throw up her medicine. The images were already flashing in front of her eyes.

Sharn had sensed her discomfort, and put an arm around her. "It's okay, Abby, don't worry about it. Just so the old codger knows it's not Deathclaws."

If they weren't her monsters, Abigail didn't want to ask what they -were-. With a name like that, she didn't think she needed to. She wasn't ready to hear what deadly things were waiting for her out there. "I... I think I'll go back to the tent now. I'm getting tired again," she lied. "It must be the medicine."

She let Sharn and Kyle watch on with concern as she got to her feet, and saw that Chopper was watching her as well, and seeing right through her. Thankfully though, she didn't say anything, and instead just took the tin cup from Abigail's spot by the fire.

"Nice going, codger," Kyle said behind her, "you scared her off."

"You too, prick," Sharn threw back at him, "taking about selling her! I'm going to sleep with her and Chopper tonight."

"Go ahead," Kyle retorted. "She can be your share this time."

Abigail tried not to pay attention to the quarrel behind her. She just wanted to get back into the tent, within those safe canvas walls. The sky was pretty, and the white sand looked strange and exotic, but with monsters and Deathclaws out there, she didn't think it was worth the fear she felt.

But at least she was alive, she told herself. She had to be grateful for that. And that she could get about by herself, and still had all her faculties, as far as she could tell.

And as uncaring as the doctor appeared, Chopper had slept in that camp tent with her, if Abigail had heard Sharn correctly. She had been tended to by a skilled medic, which was more than she could have hoped for in this barren place.

Abigail didn't know what to think of it all. She would never be able to sleep, but if that was what it took to stop her mind from going round in its frightened and uncertain circles, then she would certainly try. She wished she had thought to put sleeping pills in her medical kit, but then, the bag that it had been in wasn't in the tent. In the end she just pretended to sleep on the sandy floor when Sharn and then Chopper finally retired, and somewhere along the line, she managed to fall into her own fitful dreams.

--

Abigail ran through the corridors as fast as she dared, her long plait and its gold hoop tie bouncing against the backs of her thighs as she went. She slowed only to dance past anyone who was still going anywhere so late in the morning, and offer them a belated 'Good Morning'.

"Morning Abby!" one of the more boisterous old mothers called back after her, even after Abigail had past her. "You're running again! Late, are you? Try not to trip over your hair!"

Abigail had been chastised for running through the crowds since before she could remember, and she took the cheerful telling off in her stride. "Yes, I'm running late, Mrs Westley, and I promise not to hit anyone!"

"Tell that to your pigtail!"

Abby took the hint and grabbed hold of her trailing hair, and tucked the little hoop into one of the belt loops of her jumpsuit, just keep the dear old busybody happy.

"Thank you!"

Abigail laughed at the thanks and put her eyes back on where she was going. She had to get up one floor, but if she appeared at work through the vent hatch she would end up being another ten minutes late for the telling off the senior techs would give her. So, it was either ten minutes there, or five to grab breakfast from the kitchen on the way to the elevator.

It wasn't a difficult choice. The huge kitchen in the main level six corridor was virtually empty by the time she reached it, but almost anyone on her level who had actually wanted breakfast had sensibly got there well before her, and got to work on time afterwards. The huge, polished metal tables stretched out in three rows of four, enough for all forty or fifty diners on that level to eat together, but now they were mostly bare, except a few late runners like herself and the usual gang of supposedly retired hydro-farmers.

"Abby!"

And Gillian, her old classmate, an instigator of the dreaded dreadlock fashion that had swept the vault some years before.

In truth that fashion had originally been an excuse for the nocturnal girl not to bother taking such pains over her hair, like Abby and their other friends did, but the end result had caught on for a little while.

Abigail skidded to a stop beside her table "Hi Gillian! How was the nightshift?"

Gillian had even worse trouble getting out of bed in the morning than Abigail, and so had kept up her terrible habit as a student and actually asked to be put on the maintenance team's night shift. It meant that they hadn't been able to work together the way they had first intended, but they wouldn't have anyway, with Marcus still tutoring Abigail on the job.

"Eh, the lighting on level four is still flaky," Gillian said as she finished her late snack. "I couldn't find the problem, and neither could Peter when he passed it on to me yesterday. Seriously, there shouldn't be anything wrong with it. If you and Marcus don't take it on today, see if you can get him to take a look at it on the side." She yawed hugely and brightened, "You're still on for our tournament this week? I'll make sure to get up early to make it this evening."

"Not even my parents can stop me tonight, I've got free rein! And I'll be taking that statue back from Jacquelyn as well."

"Oh? You've been getting that throwing arm back into practice specially, have you?" Gillian grinned,

Then the girl lurched forward as four neat blossoms of blood flew from her chest, spraying red across the shining tabletop and up Abigail's face. Behind Gillian, as she lay gasping across her breakfast, the whirr of Boss' gun slowed and fell silent. And behind the hideous brown giant, the gore ran in rivers across the kitchen floors.

The monster grinned and lifted the gun to point at Abigail, and the whirr began again. "Stupid little human girl!"

Then flash of the gun blinded her...

--

...And she stayed blinded by the brightness as she woke with a scream. She flung her hands up in front of her in a futile effort to ward away the nightmare bullets, before she realised that the pain was not from any gun, but from her tense and aching muscles.

She shut her eyes and covered them with her hands. It wasn't gunfire, she realised, but the white surface and the brilliant glare of the sun that blinded her. "Sharn!" she called instinctively. "What's happening? Where are the walls? I can't see, it's too bright! It hurts!"

"Abby? Wait guys, put the roof back! Chopper!"

After a moment of confusion Abigail felt the brightness beyond her eyelids withdraw. Then tent was dark again, but instead of having a candle to light it a line of brilliant white reached in through the cloth doorway from the outside. Abigail opened her eyes to see Sharn looking at her with concern, and Chopper wandering in, stirring a spoon in the same tin cup that Abigail remembered from the night before. And somehow, she had been moved from the floor to the table again in her sleep.

"What's the problem now?" Chopper asked as she mixed the salty medicine.

"She said it was too bright when we took the roof off." Sharn motioned to the cloth sheet that once again hung over them. "Do you think being underground so long damaged her eyes after all?"

"Hardly," Chopper replied. "You could see all right last night, couldn't you?"

Abigail nodded.

"Then there's nothing wrong with them. Your vault did have lights, didn't it?"

Again Abigail nodded, "But nothing as bright as that. It hurts to look at it."

Chopper gave her a flat stare. "You're not supposed to look at the sun, idiot."

"The ground too!" Abigail defended herself. "Everything's just white."

Chopper thought for a while, and Abigail hung on her answer. "I guess you might be right then," she finally said to Sharn. "If she's been living in a cave all her life. Here."

She handed Abigail the mug she had been mixing. "Drink that – and try and keep it down again - and I'll find something for your eyes. Rathley will just have to do without them."

Sharn looked after her with an expression of disbelief. "You're going to steal his shades or something?"

"Yep."

Abigail grimaced and sipped her salt-water, trying not to gag again. The stuff was revolting, but it did lubricate her dry and sticky throat, for which she was grateful. Even if it didn't sit well in her stomach.

By the time she had drained the cup, all of it this time, and had told Sharn of her grandmother's dislike of the vault's lights, Chopper was back, holding a pair of glasses. Of course, Abigail had seen shades in movies, but living in her dimly lit vault no-one had ever actually worn a pair, no matter how cool they seemed. They wouldn't have been able to see a thing. Come to think of it, had the vault ever even had a pair in its vast inventory?

Chopper put them on her face, and though they pressed against her still painful skin the world grew several orders of magnitude less bright through the large lenses. It was a surprising change. Abigail could see that Chopper and Sharn's clothing was not the same kind at all, but made of different materials, of different shades entirely. That distinction had been lost in both the stark light of the bonfire, and the glare of the sunlight that shone through the gap along the tent door flap.

And Sharn's skin was not a contrast of tan and caucasian white, but of a pale olive shade and a proper dark tan. And Chopper's skin was not so pasty, nor did the dust seem to line it so heavily, and her hair could be seen as a deep brown that verged on the black.

She looked at her own hands. They no longer looked so bright and hideous, but simply burnt. It was a condition that she could recognise, which meant... This was how the surface world was -supposed- to look, or at least as close to it as her eyes could stand.

As she marvelled at her newly shaded world Chopper took her arm, rolled up her sleeve, and slipped a needle into her vein. "Hold still. This will do for the pain again, until tomorrow morning. But don't let it make you drowsy this time. We're moving."

"Moving?" Abigail echoed, stepping painfully from the medical table once she had suffered the shot. "Ow. Moving where?"

"Back to Corva," Sharn said.

"A town north east of here," Chopper explained, putting her needle into an old white and red first-aid tin that sat by the bags. "The closest one to the Cobalt Line, at least on this side of it."

"Oh yeah," the heard Rathley said from outside, "you're gonna love that place."

Sharn punched the door curtain. "Shut it Rathley, she'll be fine."

What worried Abigail more than that was the look Chopper gave the younger woman. An 'Oh, you think so?' sort of look.

"It's a trading town mostly," Sharn added, also noting that look, "because if the wind changes the wrong way the crops all fail, because of the radiation."

Abigail heard her, but did not show it. She was edging to the swinging tent flap. She squinted as she drew the cloth back, but the sight did not blind her. Instead she saw the surface in its entirety for the first time.

And it went on forever. The sky was so brightly blue it looked like it had been painted by a child, and filled with meagre tufts of cotton wool for the streaks of cloud that lined it. She did not try to look at the sun, though despite her good sense she was tempted, but instead looked down. The ground was no longer white, but a light tan yellow, bleached but unmistakable.

And it was not just sand, as she had thought in the darkness the night before. The sand surrounded their camp, and made for a somewhat comfortable bed or floor rug, but beyond that even more of the ground was hard and dry earth, lined with cracks that ran together until they disappeared spider-like near the horizon.

Abigail found her head swimming just looking at it. It was one thing to see the surface on the cinema screen. It was another to feel lost upon it for real. She felt a hand grab her shoulder painfully, and she realised that she had been about to fall off balance just looking at the wide immensity around her.

"Easy girl," Kyle said. His hair looked less white and stark now through her shades, and she could see the faint pock-marking of long healed scars or bites across his neck, that had been invisible the night before. They gave his clean look more character, and a subtle worrying edge. "Don't start fainting on us now, or we'll have to carry you again." He grinned. "You look good in his shades."

And from behind her a sheet of cloth came out of nowhere to cover her head, followed by Chopper's voice as she passed by. "Put that on Abby, and come out of the way while they pack up."

Abigail untangled herself from the pale brown cloth. It was a cloak or robe of some kind that reached her rear, with a hood and long, extended sleeves. Abby followed the doctor, and found herself being sat on a rock by the side of the camp. She was glad that the painkiller seemed to be kicking in, because it made for an unpleasantly hard stool.

"Make sure to wear that when you're in the sun," Chopper said seriously. "Your burns are bad enough already." Then she pulled her red and white first aid tin up beside her again and opened it. Inside it was just a mass of empty hypodermics, a few bottles of liquid, a couple of clear plastic pipes and a collection of bulbous, gnarled roots. And a thick plastic tube, which Chopper got out.

"This stuff is valuable," she said as she squeezed some of it into her hands. "Never seen it before or since, so I hope you appreciate getting to use it."

Then she took Abigail's red and peeled hand in her own, and rubbed them vigorously. It hurt like hell, mostly because Chopper was so rough about it, and Abigail tried to pull her hands away with a shriek.

"AHH! Stop it! Anngh, that hurts!!"

Chopper didn't let her go however, and as soon as she was done she filled her hands again, and smeared the stuff into Abigail's face. Hard.

"AAAAAH!" Abigail screamed to high heaven, which brought Sharn and Kyle running, but their objections did no more to dissuade the doctor than Abigail's tears did.

Again it was, mercifully, over quickly. Chopper rubbed her own hands over themselves to make the most of what remained of the cream. "We need to toughen you up, Abby," she said, and this time without the amusement in her voice. "Or else you're not going to last out here."

She left Abigail to recover her wits in Sharn's far more tender care while she gathered her things.

Abigail was somewhat gladdened by Sharn's concern for her, and the coarse, spiteful names she called the doctor after she had left, but the cream did at least feel cooling once the pain had ebbed. She looked down to the tube that Chopper had left on top of the first aid box. It said "Clear Shield Creme - Factor 30".

No, Abigail was worried for much more than the pain that throbbed in her hands and face. She was worried that Chopper was right.

--

Walking, it turned out, was much harder than Abigail could have expected, even pumped full of Chopper's painkillers. To begin with her feet were just too tender. Her blisters had been healing, but her feet, like the rest of her, were still sore and shaky from her exposure to the Cobalt Line. She had forced them back into her vault shoes because she needed something to protect them from the hard earth. The boots, even padded with the thick socks that Kyle allowed her to hold on to, would have torn her blisters back open with the rubbing, because they were simply too loose. But, since she could walk, she walked. Either her feet and legs were made to hurt, or her whole body was by someone carrying her on their backs. This way she was at least using her muscles again, no matter how badly they protested.

And she was grateful for the short cape. The heat of the sun soon made its presence known on her back, and more than once she looked up to the sky, to see where that heat came from, only to be hit by the blueness above the mountains. It was clearer than in any picture or film she had ever seen. Clouds did not lounge in huge fluffy clumps up there, but snuck their way through the hot sky, as if trying not to be noticed for fear of evaporating completely.

And the land that passed stayed similarly bare. The hard earth was far more prominent that the blissful patches of sand, contrary to the deserts she had learned about as a child. She had only been given a cursory education on the outside world, but one that had left an image with her that was now being proved more than a little inaccurate. Occasional tufts of wiry vegetation or the odd cluster of bare, dry-looking trees grew, here and there, and the occasional few bones or large, dried-out insect shell served to remind her of how unforgiving and oblivious to her needs the dry surface really was. Nothing grew with any strength, and what did would apparently be found by wandering animals and eaten for what nutrition or moisture it contained sooner or later.

As the day wore on she found that the dry and prickling heat stifled her more, wresting her attention from the remarkable, barren scene and returning it to her own ailing body. That heat was quite unlike the carefully controlled atmospheres within the vault. There was no moisture in the air, and she grew thirsty quickly. Thankfully when she asked for her canteens she was given one of the large skins that her water supply had been decanted into. However, that, combined with the mashed food that Chopper had prepared for her, proved too much for her eager but still healing stomach. The mashed roots were woody tasting and it hurt to swallow the gooey mix, but after her recent liquid diet she was too anxious to fill herself, and the meal did not stay down.

She was more careful with what remained, once her belly had settled down again, and finished what she had not already thrown up with well-advised caution. Soon afterwards Chopper was proved right yet again, when Abigail dropped behind them to relieve herself. It was bad enough that the desert was open and afforded no privacy or utilities at all, but it was yet another vicious reminder that her body still had a great deal of recovering to do.

After she had dried her eyes she caught up with her rescuers as well as her swollen and aching feet could manage, and finally worked up the courage to speak to Chopper again after what she had done that morning.

"You were right," she admitted, deeply embarrassed. "It hurt."

Chopper nodded, "We noticed."

Abigail would have flushed scarlet, if her face had not already been so badly coloured by the sun and the irradiated air. "And I'm bleeding."

"Still?" Chopper huffed in annoyance, and re-adjusted her bags on her shoulders. "Not much I can do about that. If it's just your plumbing, the meds in the water should help."

Abigail voiced her concern about the alternatives. "And what if it's not?"

"Then hope your body knows what it's doing. I can't just rip your kidneys or bladder out and expect you to be better off." She gave her a sideways look. Abigail's worry must have been written all over her face, because Chopper waved it off as nothing to worry about, though she probably didn't believe it. "If you were going to die, you'd have done it already. Otherwise I wouldn't be wasting my time and supplies on you."

It was hard to feel grateful when her saviour kept saying things like that. Chopper obviously did care, otherwise why -had- she kept treating her so diligently, if with rough hands at times? But Abigail also wanted to resent her for her attitude. Sharn obviously tried to keep her spirits up, and tended to succeed, and Rathley seemed to exude a natural carefree attitude that Abigail found catching, even though she desperately wanted to dislike the obviously immoral man.

Abigail decided to change the subject. As they had walked she had wondered: while she was grateful that she was not being made to carry her own packs for the sake of both her comfort and their pace, none of the others seemed to be carrying them either.

Chopper gave her a careful look before answering, and Abigail had to wonder just what had gone through her mind at that point. Did she plan to lie, or was she just considering how to break some sort of news to her? Surely with her attitude, the doctor would not ease any blow that had to come.

"We kept everything we could, but you weren't the only thing to soak up the radiation out there. And -you- can at least be treated for radiation poisoning. The tins would have been a decent idea if you'd eaten them sooner, but carting them around just burned your back worse once they had soaked up the radiation. The rest of you is healing better, but you'll have scars there no matter what because of that. The water flasks seemed better – everything with your vault logo on seemed to have survived fairly well actually - but we shared out and diluted the water with ours and tossed the flasks anyway. After making camp for three days to fix you up we were running low, and it wasn't contaminated enough to be a worry. I've got your stimpaks and med kit. You'll have to tell me what a few of those bottles are, but that was bright, filling it up like that. And Kyle has your books packed up with the tent.

"We tossed the gun though, and the rad counter. The counter was dead - it was getting readings from itself, erratic ones at that - and the gun was too hot to be worth carrying around. Even if you tried to sell it someone'd grow an extra finger off it and want their money back. If you want a gun we can pick a decent one off a raider for you. Bullets are what would have been worthwhile, even if they had been irradiated. We saved the ones that were in it before we got rid of it."

Abigail took it all in with a feeling of relief. Her things were still okay for the most part, and she seemed to have chosen well. And Chopper had actually paid her a compliment on her own first-aid kit, even if it was only in passing.

But when Chopper had mentioned raiders, Abigail's eyes had strayed to the large bulge at Chopper's waist.

She had only seen the gun for a second, but it was more than just a pistol. It was too large to be one of those, and had a curved magazine curling forwards from underneath it. It didn't look anything like the 'Uzis' she had seen at the cinema, but she guessed it was something similar, and less boxy.  The other three all had weapons as well, either hidden beneath their clothes or with their handles emerging from the packs that they carried. "Is that what those are for then," she said, pointing to the concealed gun. "Do people raid travellers a lot up here?"

Chopper raised an eyebrow at the question. Evidently she hadn't expected Abigail to want to know, or to have even noticed. "There are five types of people in the wastelands," she explained. "The first would be you vault types, but they don't count. They're not wastelanders. They just sit in their vaults, or wall themselves up in shit-holes like Vault City, and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist if they don't look at it.

"So, first there's us types. We travel and hire on to protect caravans, or try and dig up tech relics to sell, or find mercenary work from town to town. Second are the townie types. They farm, buy and sell from the traders, send out caravans to make sure they get what they need from other towns, and best of all they've got most of what you could want in one fixed place, and they defend it because it took effort to build up. Then there's the tech-freaks, called the Brotherhood of Steel. They're a group, or a church, or God knows what, that hordes and studies technology, and never fucking do anything else with it. They just keep it to themselves. You can tell them because they've got the biggest guns, armour that makes them fucking untouchable, and they won't even look at you unless it's to blow your head off or take something you've got that they want. Maybe both, in that order, if you're unlucky."

She frowned deeply, and Abigail guessed that she had first hand experience of these people. And from her expression it seemed as though she wasn't exaggerating. "Then again," Chopper continued, "don't expect to see them. They don't march out of their holes unless they have to. Anyway, after them there's the tribals. Most of us want to build up, but they've gone the other way, worshipping the sun, living in stick huts or caves and listening to ancient spirits from when the bombs hit. Personally, I think they're just drugged up to the eyeballs on broc flowers, but at least they don't make trouble for anyone but themselves.

"And last, scraping the bottom of the gene pool, are the raiders. They group together, arm themselves up as best they can, and either attack caravans or make raids on the towns and villages. They take everything they can, so they can trade away anything they don't want or can't eat for more bullets, better weapons, and paying off assholes to get their next tip for an attack. If you're out here and not carrying a weapon, you asking to be gutted by those bastards."

Abigail wondered whether she had been better off not knowing. "And what about the giant monsters? Are they raiders?"

Chopper laughed long and loud at that. "You're as bad as Rathley. I've never seen a Deathclaw, they're tales to scare kids at night, and I've never seen your green monsters either. I've seen some real nasty creatures out there, and worse people, but never a giant green raider."

Abigail's heart fell. Even if Sharn believed her, Chopper obviously didn't. "Oh." She tried to ignore her disappointment, and her desire to convince the doctor of her story, and turned her mind back to the raiders. "Should I have a gun too then? I definitely don't want to be robbed and left to die here."

Chopper gave her another amused look. "Try to walk without limping first, then we'll think about giving you a weapon. We've guarded caravans before, so I think the other three can guard little old you."

That sounded all the more condescending because Chopper, though taller by more than half a head, was not playing that card. Abigail had stopped growing upwards at the age of seventeen; she was as fully grown as she was going to get for now. But Chopper was mocking her age. The woman's previous comments about treating her like a child were obviously a matter of personal convenience.

"So you won't protect me with that gun if we are attacked?"

Chopper laughed again. "Ha, are you kidding? I'll be making for the closest bit of cover I can find if anyone starts shooting. Personal protection is their payment for having me along, or I wouldn't be travelling with them at all. I can shoot straight, but I'm no fighter. This thing," she said, patting the sub machine gun, "is for when the shit starts flying."

--

Kyle called a halt to the journey early, well before sundown, when they came across a suitable outcropping of rocks and dry brush to set up camp beside. He had justified it by the iguana hunting they would get around the nooks and crannies of the rocks, but the real reason was obvious.

Abigail could not move another step. The painkillers had begun to wear off an hour before, and the full day of trudging across the wasteland had already murdered her legs. Her old blisters had also begun to bleed again, and Sharn had bandaged them carefully and made sure she had eaten what she could before allowing Chopper near enough to do anything.

Abigail had winced only half-heartedly as the needle had sunk into her arm. It was nothing after the slow burning in her feet, and the sharp thump of putting one foot in font of the other for hours on end. Chopper -was- right. She needed to toughen up badly, because that one day had drained her of everything she had. Kyle and Sharn, putting aside their quarrel for the moment, had needed to help her for the last kilometer or so, because she hadn't been able to walk on her own after that. In the vault she had been so fit, and in such good shape. She needed to reclaim that, just as soon as her body would let her.

She had fallen asleep soon after the medicine had begun to do its work, and taken the edge off her discomfort.

"Sia's right Chopper," Kyle said around the fire that evening, once he and Rathley had hunted up their dinner - Kyle with his knife and some lightning reflexes, and Rathley with the old scare and smash. He scraped out the last of his iguana's entrails and spitted it from the pile of brush twigs, before holding the lizard over the campfire to cook. "That girl can't take the pace. She's sick and she's hurting. And how are her feet going to heal, walking her like this?"

Rathley argued the other way. "She ain't got a choice if she don't want to get left out here, boy. We don't have the supplies to camp for another three days while she lies around. Why else are we eating these bastards?" He waved his iguana stick at Kyle and Sharn. "There ain't much eating on 'em this side of town; they're as scrawny as she is."

"Well, we've got enough water!" Sharn argued back. "We can't make her do that again or she's going to collapse! Hell, she would have done if we hadn't propped her up!"

Chopper just skewered her iguana. "Of course she was going to collapse. She spent three days unconscious with me pouring nothing but liquids and mush down her gullet through a tube, and RadAway into her veins. And that's after overdosing on Rad-X -and- surviving at least a day and a night on the Cobalt Line."

Now she had their undivided attention. "You knew it was too much?" Sharn looked livid. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Chopper?"

"Rathley's right. We didn't plan to stay out anything like this long, and she can't heal properly out here either. So, I took the chance to find out what she's made of. She was obviously in decent shape, and she had a good head on her to bring what she did from her vault. Stuff which, incidentally," she said, giving a pointed glance towards Rathley, "she's getting back. They're only spoils if she's dead."

The craggy traveller pulled his iguana-on-a-stick out of the fire, and began to peel it with his knife. "She'll get it back if I get my shades."

Chopper shrugged, "I'm sure she can trade for a pair. My point," she said, turning her own dinner over on the fire, "is that she lasted eight hours out here, only the day after she woke up. She's damn lucky we found her, but luck couldn't have kept her alive for us to find after what she put herself through. And today she pushed herself better than some townies would have in her state."

She gave her companions a smile that might even have been proud. "She -could- push herself better than most townies would. And if her insides heal like the outsides are, then she'll recover all right. There's no way we're selling her. She's got potential."

Sharn and Kyle were both smiling by the time she was finished. "Thanks Chopper," Sharn said, giving Kyle the first fond look she had all day. "We'll train her up right, won't we, gunner-man?"

"I think we'll work out something, as long as she wants to stick around."

Rathley spat out the claw he was chewing around in response. "Bah, Chopper just likes her now 'cuz she takes those brutal treatments."

"Rathley!" Sharn warned, but the older man just waved her off.

"Whatever. Like you said, man, she can be your share. Just as long as I get my shades back." He took another bite out of the skinny lizard. "At least she looks good from the back. And there ain't too many girls who have hair past their ass like that."

The other three stared dully at him, and replied in chorus. "We saw you notice."

--

To be continued...

--

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Peter King and Richard King for their proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2008


	3. Corva Welcomes You?

After the Vault: Chapter 03

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

--

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 03

Corva Welcomes You?

Abigail would have thought that, after the tortures of the day before, she would be used to the discomfort by the time she woke.

Naturally, neither the world nor her body were quite so kind.

She was roused so suddenly and from so deep a sleep that whatever nightmare flash she might have woken to was gone before it had appeared at all. That was, in some ways, a relief. Once awake, she could quickly clear her head of her bloody memories, and focus on her more immediate and physical pains.

Putting on Rathley's shades she was glad to see that, as the tent came down around her, she had not been placed on Chopper's blood stained table again for the night. The patch of sand she had slept on, while less deep than the last, had still cushioned her and left her hips and shoulders less sore. They should have felt worse, she knew, but Chopper's painkiller shots, which helped her sleep, would still last well into the day. That was something she was eternally grateful for.

After their wasteland hike the day before her legs felt like lead. She dreaded to think what condition they would be in if she was able to feel them fully. However, they did still work, and she found her feet slowly but steadily while the desert travellers packed up around her.

As she stretched out her aches it struck her how quickly the novelty of having surface people around her had worn off. For all their quirks and foreign charms, they were not like normal people; like the people of Vault 42. They obviously had some sort of camaraderie between them, but it was not one based upon friendships, or care for each other's wellbeing.

"Hey, how's our precious little invalid? Ready for another little stroll? Ha ha!"

Rathley's loud comment, and the subsequent rock that Kyle threw at his head after tripping over the unpleasant man's belongings, summed up her point quite well.

"Jesus! Bags, old man. Either pack them up, or I hack them up for our next fire!" 

Abigail was no stranger to chastisement over her late waking hours, untidiness, and her 'overly energetic' conduct through the vault corridors. She had been well known among her friends for the extra hours she was made to do at work, or the groundings she got from her proud and over-protective parents.

"You do and I'll cut your fucking ears off to match your balls, boy!"

But they had never threatened her with physical violence over her misdemeanours. They had never belittled her simply for falling sick. Back in the vault she had taken her punishments because she knew she had earned them, and she had genuinely tried to do better, because that was what everyone had needed of her. Everyone had to work together if they were all to remain safe, comfortable and happy in their underground home. Of course people had their fallings out, and fights occurred, but only over the worst incidents. Real crimes, and real inconsideration, were the unpleasant exception.

Here, they appeared to be the norm. Instinctively she looked for Sharn. She did at least show that she really cared, even if she was just as strangely foreign and discomforting as the other three. And Sharn just shouted up for her... boyfriend? Husband? According to her, Kyle could take anything that Rathley could dish out, and still make the older man lose control of his bowels before begging for mercy. And in fewer words too. That was the side of Sharn that scared her. The savage girl that appeared when she thought Abigail wasn't looking.

Absently Abigail reached behind her to hold the metal loop that hung as a tie for her long pigtail. However, pulling it into her fingers, she found that it was no longer the piece of jewellery that her mother had given her for her twelfth birthday. Instead, her hair was pulled through and tied around a coin, which had an off-centre hole of some sort through it.

Had they thrown away her only real piece of jewellery? Chopper had not said anything about it when she had asked about her equipment. She forced the emerging tears back, and looked back up to the fighting pair. Of course they had tossed it. It had probably absorbed too much radiation to be safe, but it still hurt to lose it.

"Admiring the circus?"

Abigail literally jumped, letting out a cry of surprise when Chopper made her presence known. How long had the coarse woman been standing behind her?

Abigail turned away from scene with a definite worry joining the hungry crawl of her weak stomach. "Not really."

Then she swallowed hard, realising just how rude her tone had been. It had been honest, but at the same time she knew that she was in no position to be making open judgements about these people. Even if they had thrown away her possessions, her life was depending on their willingness to keep her alive.

Chopper raised a single questioning eyebrow, and Abigail couldn't help but feel nervous at it, but Chopper did not say any more. She just gave Abigail that worrying smirk, and offered her a bowl of root mush. "Is that so? Well then, maybe something to eat will take your mind of them."

Abigail took the bowl and looked down at it. It was the same unpleasant, fibrous sludge that she had tried to eat the day before, and only partially succeeded. And this time it was wetter, obviously with the salt-water medication stirred in. She was starving, she couldn't deny it, but could she really force herself to eat this again? And again at lunch, and again at dinner, if she was lucky enough to be provided with three meals instead of one?

What choice did she have? "Thank you," she said in a quiet voice, and she tried to sound grateful, but given the smirk that stayed plastered on Chopper's face she did not know when she had succeeded. She scooped up a spoonful of the wet mush and tried to swallow it down as fast as her throat would allow without making herself ill.

"Don't rush it," Chopper advised as she turned away to watch the unfolding scene between her companions. They were still sniping at each other, or rather Rathley was sniping at the once-again allied Sharn and Kyle, and they were returning the favour. And all three actually seemed to be enjoying the abusive air.

"The best medicine tastes like shit," Chopper added. "Heh, it's a good thing you don't need the best."

Abigail chose to believe that she was trying to reassure her, but either way, it was rather more information than she needed as she slowly ate her salty gruel. "Yes. A good thing, I guess."

--

Abigail did get lunch as well, despite her pessimistic morning thoughts. In fact the atmosphere all around was lighter than the day before, such that Abigail could put her troubled thoughts behind her and simply walk without the frequent bouts of bickering that had plagued the last leg of this exhausting journey. It might have been helped by the fact that she did not feel up to trying to make conversation with them, so once they had settled down and back into the routine of marching along she could simply see them as the ragged wanderers that they were, and not in such a judgemental light.

It helped that Rathley was not a talker once he was moving. His carefree and vulgar opinions vanished beneath the craggy mask of a... Abigail did not know what animal it was that he resembled, but he resembled it well. He did not so much turn serious, but simply started to pay a keen attention to the eternal expanse of rock and dirt around them. His attention was on the 'out there' and not on the rest of the group. And, as Abigail was forever realising as they marched, there was so much 'out there' to see. What he was paying attention to, or looking for, or feeling with his surface dweller's senses, Abigail could not begin to guess at.

But it kept him quiet and engrossed as he walked along behind them, with Chopper in front. It gave Kyle and Sharn time to talk together, and talk to Abigail.

"Abby-girl, are you holding up okay?" Sharn finally asked, after she and Kyle had run out of their own conversations, only half-heard and not listened in on by Abigail. "Are you legs tired? I'm sure Chopper has something..."

It was true, Abigail's legs ached something fierce. They ached to the point that they hurt anew, especially now that the day was wearing on, and the drugs wearing off. To begin with they had ached with stiffness, and she had longed for a good hot bath. Then they had ached with the exercise, on top of the exertions of the previous day. And now they ached with tiredness, moving not with a simple thought but with an effort of willpower not to be left behind, or be verbally put down for holding them up. But she could still go on. Her muscles protested, but the food and her slow but steady recovery gave her the stamina to continue.

"She's not due for another shot until sundown," Chopper added to Abigail's mental list of reasons. "Too much of my stuff and she'll end up numb and walking like a floater."

Abigail didn't want to know what a 'floater' was anymore than she wanted to hear about Rathley's 'deathclaw'. Right now 'bed' or even 'sand' would have held her interest, but not much else.

"I'm okay," she said, a little out of breath, but still sounding strong, even if she didn't look it right then. "And I won't need holding up this time."

"Ambitious," Kyle said with a joking smile, and though it didn't feel welcome he did not let Abigail's lack of similar humour put him off this time. "We'll be going a bit longer today, you know. At least until Corva's watch towers come up in the distance."

He pointed out to a speck just below the horizon. "Three wooden points on that dot, once it's become a wall. That's your target."

Abigail squinted through her shades at the dot. He was right. It wasn't just a rock ridge. It was a proper artificial shape, just about, even at this distance. The sight pumped a flood of energy into her heart. "A town. A real town."

"Corva," Sharn confirmed. "It's not a bad place, and there's plenty to keep people coming back, even this close to the Cobalt Line."

"There has to be," Kyle added. "Since their crops aren't a sure thing with all the rads and nasty creatures about. That's why it's a good place to find work. There's always someone wanting something done, or it's the end of their job! A real melodramatic bunch."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sharn said, "but they're decent. They're ghoul-friendly, they've got some sort of sport running in the pens almost every day, the traders won't cheat you too bad on ammo..."

"They got a brothel full of absolute talent, I'd say second best within two caravans' ride."

They ignored Rathley, although Abigail was surprised that they didn't argue the point either.

"We can get you fixed up real good with the stuff you were lugging around. Some of that's gotta be worth some decent leather at least," Kyle finished.

Abigail wasn't so sure. "I need to sell it all? What am I supposed to do after that?"

"Hey, it's your stuff, you do what you want with it. I'm just saying, some of that's gonna be worth more than the effort of lugging it around."

Abigail guessed Kyle was right. Especially since he was the one carrying the majority of her supplies and books.

"And we'll look after you," Sharn went on with her smile on her face. "We know what it's like out here, so we'll watch your back so you don't get suckered into anything. So don't worry. And you can rest up while we sort out our pay for this waste of a trip - I mean besides finding you, this was a bust - 'cus that'll probably take a bit, and Chopper's put you through too much as it is."

At the sound of her name Chopper joined the conversation. "Since we're on the subject, there's a few things I want to lay down -before- you start introducing yourself to everyone and their dog."

Abigail didn't like the sound of that. Chopper had rules. But then they were probably for her own good. She was the naif there. "Uh, such as?"

"Hm, one: don't trust people too much. You got lucky with us, and even we might have sold your ass if you hadn't turned out to be worthwhile."

Abigail looked up at the woman in front in alarm, only to have her soften the warning.

"And you've proved yourself for now. Just keep it in mind, you might not want to stick with us, or anybody out here.

"Two: don't think you can survive alone either. If you can't use people when you need to, then learn. If you get in with the right ones at the right time then they might owe you for it, and that's worth more than that gun you're so desperate to have."

Abigail's surprise turned a little sour. "I don't -want- one. I don't even know how to use them! I nearly broke my shoulder with one when I killed that last bastard monster in Vault 42! I just don't want to end up with a knife in me either. You're the one who said I needed a weapon."

"Then bartering away some of those books and things for some leathers is just as worth while as getting a gun or knife. And hell, if you don't want a gun you can chuck rocks at the raiders when they turn up if you like! Anyway, learn who your friends are, because even if you don't have a gun or a spare stimpak, they might."

And under that was an undercurrent that Abigail could hear. She might not be able to trust them fully, but she -did- owe them her life. It was up to her whether she reneged on that debt.

"Three: When you're not hobbling around, don't take it as a sign to be a hero when some stupid prick pulls a gun out, or start making trouble. If you stand up, you're their first target for that shiny magnum. There is a difference between bravery and idiocy, and not many idiots get the chance to learn from their mistake. They're too busy bleeding out all over the floor.

"Four: I don't know what the stance might have been in that vault of yours, but don't fuck anyone out here. You don't know where they've been, and you sure as hell don't want some of the shit that they might be spreading around."

That brought all three of the others up short. Especially Rathley.

"Hey, I've been layin' the best of them for fucking years, and bein' damn good at it, so you can blow it out of your ass, Chopper! Don't spoil my chances with the kid before I get to get it on with her!"

"What?! Like you'd ever have a chance with her!" Sharn shouted back. "She's got to have better taste that that!"

Abigail most definitely agreed. Sharn didn't know how right she was. Rathley would never have had a ghost of a chance with her, and even if that hadn't been the case he was... nasty.

"But seriously Chopper," Sharn started, "that's just..."

"It's going to keep her clean at least," Chopper justified. "You don't want to know some of the sick diseases I've been asked to treat. And especially for a girl there's often not much anyone can do, not even me. At least for a guy you can take a knife to his dick if it's bad enough. And," she said to Rathley, "I'll look forward to the day when I finally do lower myself to touching your prick for that very reason."

Rathley gave her the finger and a few nasty words in reply, but Chopper was trying to make a point. "Rathley's still clean because he knows his whores and skirts are clean. No flop house will ever keep a girl who's caught something, and around here at least the customers get checked over to make sure their girls and guys don't catch anything in the house beds.

"So, until you know they're clean, keep your hands to yourself. I've tried to keep three women alive after they caught black widowmaker, and the one who survived the treatment was worse off than when it was rotting away at her insides. Except she's alive now, and the others aren't."

Even Rathley couldn't say anything to that. It was alarmist, but apparently all too true. Abigail felt her lunch roiling in her stomach at the thought of what Chopper had described. If it was supposed to make her feel humble and honest, the lecture had worked. "You really don't have to worry about that." She didn't want to leave them room to enquire, but she was too late in asking what rule five might be.

"Say... you're not a woman yet?" Sharn asked. She looked genuinely surprised, but the question didn't come with any of the expected ridicule. "You know, I'm sure we can find you a clean..."

"No, really, just don't worry about it. I'm not in a rush for that kind of thing right now." Especially not out here, she thought, but she sighed hard to clear her head. "What about number five?"

Chopper shrugged. "If I think of one I'll let you know. I thought I'd save the best for last."

Abigail didn't thank her for that.  

"Eh." Kyle evidently didn't like the rather awkward silence that followed. "Anyway, all that crap aside, you could find a lot of worse places to heal up than Corva. It's not quiet, but it's got mostly decent people and lots of decent places to waste your caps if you're in the mood for it."

Abigail blinked at yet another unfamiliar term. "Caps? You mean money?"

Kyle nodded. "Heh, I guess you didn't have bottle caps down in your vault." He fished into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a bottle cap to toss at her.

And it was exactly what she had thought it couldn't be. The cap from a bottle of beer or soda - she couldn't tell which, it was too faded and worn. It was bent, and with most of its printing scratched or rubbed off.  "This... is money up here?"

"Sure," Sharn said, again looking surprised. "Why do you think Nuka-Cola is so expensive? Free money."

Abigail had to stifle a slightly hysterical giggle. And to think of all the bottles and their caps just sitting in their vault's store rooms, carefully rationed and re-used for over sixty years to make sure there was always enough vault-brewed beer to go around at festival time. No wonder the drink had been so carefully distributed. No wonder the bottle caps, with a little careful and creative thinking, could be though of as just as valuable, being finite, as the drink they kept safe. And out of some perverse habit of collection, had they kept their value on the surface long after the refreshment they had protected was gone?

Suddenly the surface was not just a frightening place. It was becoming weird, and in the most unsettlingly logical way. Abigail was glad that the town in the distance was growing its towers as it came closer, because she was worried that she was beginning to understand something of this surface world, and right then even something was simply too much!

--

That night, as the four wastelanders made camp, Abigail sat staring at the town in the distance from beneath her cape. Although she was tired beyond belief, she felt as though the sight of those three wooden towers, marking the bounds of the buildings below, could have kept her going for hours. Only the relief at finally being able to rest upon her little rock cushion, followed by the promise of painkillers and sleep, had stopped her.

Somewhere in that town, beneath the uneven line of the roofs, there would be a bed. A real bed, with a real mattress and blanket, and a bathtub, and maybe even something other than salty root gunk to eat. She did not want to say it for fear of the answer she would get, but her sore skin was not helped by the sticky jumpsuit that she had been wearing the last two days. Her other, the one she had walked out of the Cobalt Line in, had been thrown away. The last thing her skin had needed was what had been baked into that cloth.

But those had been her only two sets of clothes. She had always been owed one of the spare jumpsuits in the vault, but it had never actually been provided. She had guessed it would have been given to her on her twentieth birthday. Her tired heart fell a little further at the memory. There would be no more birthdays, and no more festivals. But, she thought, perhaps she could find such things out there in the blasted desert. Performing had been her passion. Surely there would be a chance to do so if there were people who would watch.

As long as they weren't all people like Rathley.

She was wrested from her thoughts when Chopper sat herself down on the hard ground by Abigail's rock. "Nice to see you keeping up this time."

Of all the things Abigail had not needed right then, it was Chopper's beside manner that had ranked a solid second place. She didn't know what a 'pig-rat' was, but just the way Sharn had said it those two days before had made it sound like an accurate description for the medic when it came to personal skills. "I'm tired, Chopper. Please leave me alone."

The woman shrugged, unconcerned by the dismissal. "Too bad. I guess you'll just have to watch us eat then."

Abigail turned to see Chopper dropping a pair of turnip-like roots back into her medical box. "W-Wait!" She exclaimed, before Chopper even had a chance to get up. She was feeling lousy, but with the town so close to her she was not so depressed as to want to miss the chance for a third meal, no matter how disgusting. And God was she tired of this power game. "I want to eat, okay? I'm sorry. Just... don't talk to me like that. I don't want to be your pet, or your unwanted child. I'm trying, but it's hard. I've lost my home, and my family, and everyone I ever cared about, and it's not my fault I nearly died out here!!"

She almost screamed those last words, and hadn't even realised it. She looked up at the other three, still erecting the tent. Sharn looked shocked, but Kyle was grinning from ear to ear, and Rathley looked as though he was trying with all his might to stop himself from unleashing his crude wit on Chopper, and only succeeding because he wanted to hear her reply.

For her part Chopper looked at her with raised eyebrows, and blew her breath out through her nose before sitting back against the rock, not with a frown or a glare, but a satisfied and perplexing sort of smile. "At least your backbone looks like it's healing."

Abigail tried hard not to look pleased, but she was. She had just got away with being something other than the invalid or the hanger-on. She was also relieved that the woman hadn't shot her for it, and that only added to the thrill of it. It made her feel a bit bad - she had been raised not to be confrontational with other people that way - but that little show of independence made her feel a lot better about herself.

"Um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Chopper interrupted with her usual casual bluntness. "I'd suggest exercising that backbone if you want it to heal properly, Abby. Everyone loves a shrinking violet, but only because they can be stepped on so easily."

Abigail took the hint and allowed herself to feel good about it. She dropped the subject and just continued to watch the others as they worked, rather than turning back to stare at the town. Watching Kyle and Sharn finish putting up the tent was a picture of efficiency. Sharn followed Kyle's lead as if on instinct, while the leather armoured man pulled everything taut for his companion to pin into the earth.

And Rathley, his job on the shelter apparently done, had moved over to examine the rocks at the side of the camp. As last time, Kyle had wanted to pitch the tent next to an outcropping of rocky ground, larger this time with several insanely out of place boulders resting against the rubble and the small wall of protruding earth. There was enough of the debris for the aging man to climb well out of sight.

Then she heard him strain against something in the clear evening, followed by a loud thump. It made Abigail jump a little, not having expected it in the slightest.

"What's he doing?"

Chopper continued to mash Abigail's dinner, not looking up. "Pretending to be good at his job."

Sharn, looking slightly dustier than usual after erecting the tent, ambled over to join them. She was far happier than Chopper to actually explain what was going on.

"The men are going to get us some dinner," she said, plopping herself down on the same rock, next to Abigail. "They're both way better at catching iguanas and geckos than us."

Just as she said it a not so small lizard, about the size of Abigail's forearm, came flying through the air from Rathley's direction. It sailed over Kyle's head, its arms and tail floating limply in the air, before landing with a thump on the ground.

To Abigail's distaste, its head had been crushed flat, and it bled slowing over the ground. Suddenly food didn't seem as welcome as it had. Especially since the bloody lump above its shoulders reminded her far too vividly of another green, caved-in skull that she had inflicted the damage on herself.

"Oh God, that lizard."

Sharn looked at her as if to ask what the matter was. "That's dinner. And not as puny as the ones last night either. Really, it's not bad, for lizard. Didn't you have iguanas underground?"

Abigail shook her head. "No. No, we didn't! I thought you were all eating those roots and plants, like me. Or that cake-thing in the packet Rathley had for lunch."

"You should know by now," Sharn replied, "Rathley's a freak. Those pre-war MREs taste like toilet paper. And you can't just live on desert weeds."

"Actually you can," Chopper said, mixing some of the medicine into Abigail's bowl. "But why put up with it if you don't have to? Even the drugged up tribals hunt for meat."

"Hey!" Sharn exclaimed, indignant about something there, but Abigail was paying more attention to the hunt. Rathley had scrambled back over the rocks a little way, and both he and Kyle seemed to be hunting in one patch of smaller rocks. Rathley crawled across them like a reptile himself, while Kyle stood poised and still as a statue with a knife in his right hand.

Nothing seemed to happen for a while, except for Rathley's crawling over the boulders, until in the blink of an eye Kyle was no longer standing, but crouched down with his knife buried behind the rocks. And when he came back up, the iguana was writhing on his knife, the blade piercing right through its body.

"Ha," Rathley condescended. "Lucky shot, boy. But you won't take the lead."

Kyle smirked at him and reached for the lizard's slowly twisting neck. And he snapped it. "The head start won't do you any good, old man."

"This is a game to them," Abigail realised.

"Hunting is so boring," Sharn said, defending the pair. "I never learned, because even with Kyle teaching me it seemed like such a waste of time. It's a sport for them, because otherwise it would drive them mad."

Abigail watched as Rathley caught his second iguana, this time in full view. His method seemed to lack the skill and precision of Kyle's method, but it was far more productive. Kyle was waiting for the opportunity to strike as the creatures fled or slowly explored their way into the evening from their burrows and cracks, whereas Rathley was actually trying to drive the iguanas where he wanted them do go. And as soon as one made its mistake, Rathley's strong hands were around the right rock, and he only needed a second to heft it clear of the ground and bring back down a few inches further away, onto the creature's head or back.

But Rathley did not win the match. Kyle benefited from the iguanas that did not flee where Rathley wanted, and instead headed back to their cracks beneath the rocks, where he was poised. They both caught two, making one lizard meal for each of them except Abigail.

And even with her gruel as her only other option Abigail did not want one. She felt a little sick as she watched them gut their animals, before spitting them and lowering them over the fire that Sharn had started. There had been no dry brush by the rocks this time, but the desert girl had been carrying enough to make a modest fire as the light had faded.

"Are you sure you don't want some, Abby-girl?" Sharn asked, offering some of her barbecue, but Abigail still refused.

Abigail didn't consider herself a vegetarian, but she had been one by circumstance rather than by choice. She had never seen an animal prepared for food, and nor had anyone in the vault ever expected the knowledge to be necessary. They had no livestock to butcher, and all the meat they ever needed could be grown and synthesised from the fungal hydro-farms, rather than slaughtered. Livestock would have been a massive drain on both food supplies and space within the vault, as well as a health risk in the unlikely event of disease. The technology had existed to make animal farming redundant.

It was not the ideology of eating meat that made her nauseous as she ate her root paste so slowly and carefully. The simple reaction to seeing the creatures killed, and eaten right from the carcass, was disturbing enough to her.

"She couldn't even if she wanted to," Chopper illuminated, before adding, "Or have you finished pissing blood, Abby?"

Abigail, newly brave against her situation, gave her a dark look for her invasive remark. But Chopper was her doctor, so she still had to answer. "No. No I haven't. If I could, believe me, I would."

"But it doesn't hurt now, right?" Sharn asked. Abigail wondered how the young woman could be so kind, and yet so insensitive about her most personal issues as well. It wasn't her fault it hurt to pee, and it wasn't her fault she was 'only a girl' either.

But she nodded in defeat. Chopper deserved her newly reclaimed ire. Sharn didn't. "Not as much."

Chopper smiled, enjoying the sight. "That's something then."

--

For some reason, despite her fatigue and the influence of the shot Chopper had given her before she had turned in, Abigail found it difficult to sleep. For the first time since coming to the surface her mind was overriding her body and refusing to rest, and not just because of the hard ground beneath her. The surface was undoubtedly a barbaric place, she had realised, but more than that it was simply primitive. Vault 42 had required a vast amount of maintaining, but in return it had provided them with everything they had ever needed.

The surface was a different world altogether. Food had to be found or grown from the ground up. Clothing and necessities would not be provided; she would have buy or barter for them. An occupation would no longer be provided for her, and she would now be left to find her own place and her own path in life.

She was sure she was capable of it. She knew she would have a great deal to learn, but she had time to learn it, and it seemed that her rough saviours wanted to keep her around. The idea made her uncomfortable, but she knew that she could use them. She could learn from them, and they would show her how to live on this backwards surface. Her thoughts now were not on whether she could survive, but on how best to do so.

And she couldn't wait around to be handed the opportunity. All her life she had been brought up knowing who she was and what was expected of her in the future. No-one would give her that security now. She had to take it, or remain helpless. She would need to discover what her options were, but she was sure they were out there. If these people could make their livings wandering the wasteland, then she could surely put her skills to good use for similar types who could not work their own machines properly, or did not understand the sciences she had been taught. It was, in a way, freedom to survive however she wished.

And it terrified her. Only hours before the town had seemed like a beacon of hope, except she had not had any idea of where she might fit into such a place. Just that it existed had been hope enough. All she had wanted was proof that humanity still existed as a community, like Vault 42 had been.

But what kind of community? It would be the kind these wasteland people knew, and lived within. It would not be hers. She did not know the customs, or what was expected of its people, or their attitudes to... anything at all. She had only just learned how these people ate, and like almost everything else about them, it seemed -wrong- to her. As bad as it made her feel for thinking so, it was no longer enough that humankind had survived. She wanted to be a part of it again.

The more she thought about it the more uncertain she made herself, and yet she could not shut those thoughts out of her mind and sleep. They were too pervasive. It was almost a relief when Chopper joined her.

"You're still awake?" the woman asked. "You won't last tomorrow without sleep."

"I can't." Right then she did need someone to talk to. Even if it was Chopper. "I don't know what to think any more. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"What? You're not... You're supposed to sleep. That's it."

Of course, it didn't make her feel any better. "I'm scared! It's all wrong! You people are wrong! What am I going to do like this?"

Chopper huffed. She lay down in her clothes, pulling her coat over herself as a makeshift blanket. "Ether you'll get over it, or you'll die." As expected she did not try to reassure Abigail with her tone, "And I don't think you'll be doing any of the second, or else I'll take my fee out of your hide. Or did you -try- to kill yourself out there, and the vault story was just one big lie?"

Abigail felt a furious tear fall down her face. "It wasn't! It wasn't a lie! You think that I..."

"Good," Chopper interrupted. "If you've still got the will to live then you've got enough to stop feeling sorry for yourself. And if you're not, then prove it. You've been tough enough to last this long, so sorting yourself out once we get to town will be child's play."

That wasn't the point, but Abigail held her tongue. She did need to knuckle down and sort herself out, and it wasn't as though she expected it to be easy. But she was tired of the worries, and her insecurities. Even if it had been a lie, she would have liked someone to humour her and say that it was all okay.

Lying there, staring at the canvas overhead, Abigail would have asked where Sharn was. She would have been some comfort. But before Abigail even had time to think of asking the point was rendered moot by a distant, happy moan. The first of several, which were unmistakable Sharn's, and soon unmistakably Kyle's as well.

Abigail found herself feeling rather awkward, listening to them. The pair, though only caught in the odd loud gasp or sound of exaltation, sounded very energetic for two people who had been travelling on foot all day. Though wholly inexperienced Abigail had heard sex before, and that was not the sound of the slow lovemaking she remembered hearing while fixing the air circulation systems over bunkroom 703, when Jacquelyn and her much older and evidently very gentle boyfriend had persuaded their roommates to take an evening at out. This was more... lustful, she guessed.

Chopper let out an annoyed sigh of her own. "Her resolve didn't last very long."

After a moment, and a few more overloud gasps, Abigail spoke again. "They're... just having sex out there? On the ground?"

Chopper gave a cutting laugh. "Knowing them, Sharn's probably stark naked and up against a rock."

Mercifully the sounds did not last too long, but before the reprieve came they were treated to every audible detail of the pair's out-of-kilter orgasms.

Again, after a moment of silence that Abigail found uncomfortable, she asked, "They are in love, right?"

"Apparently so. If not, they certainly get enough practice to fake it annoyingly well."

Abigail didn't know whether to be glad for them or jealous. She would have given anything to have someone hold her right then, but at least it gave her hope if these surface people could genuinely fall in love. She also hoped that tomorrow would come before she had a chance to dream, because she really didn't want her dreams, or her nightmares, to become any more lurid after that.

--

To Abigail's relief she got her wish for the most part. The sun was already high in the sky by the time she was awakened by the bright deconstruction of their tent, and she had slept well enough that only an underlying sense of guilt remained from whatever unremembered dreams she'd had, instead of the more usual fears. Whether it was pleasant guilt or regretful she couldn't tell, so it dulled the experience, but it either way she considered it an improvement.

She put on her - Rathley's - sunglasses before opening her eyes. The ground was hard beneath her, but she was in no rush to get up. The town of Corva was waiting for her, and she was nervous about meeting it.

After a moment the others must have noticed her lack of enthusiasm, because the clear sky was suddenly replaced with Kyle's towering form. "Time to see some real civilisation after all this wasteland, Abby!"

Civilisation. She doubted that the town would quite fit her interpretation of the word. She didn't fight it though. It was either that or living out in the desert, and she had lived through enough of that to last her a lifetime. "Alright."

Abigail knew that her lack of enthusiasm had not escaped their attentions, but she tried not to meet Sharn's looks of sympathy or concern. It still unsettled her that she and Kyle had had sex the night before, out there in the wilderness, and she didn't quite know how to look at them now. They didn't seem to behave any differently with each other at all, but it was there. In Abigail's mind there was now a sort of distance between herself and the wild looking young woman. She could no longer be Abigail's crutch, because Sharn had her own life and her own needs and intentions. It had made Abigail realise just how little she had been thinking of Sharn as anything more than emotional support. Likewise Kyle seemed that bit more approachable, a bit more human, but then why would she want to approach the man simply because she could? To him, she was 'something else'. Something other than a wastelander.

Just as he, just as all of them, were something other than normal to Abigail. Touche, she thought.

"You nervous, Abby-girl?" Sharn asked. "Really, it's not such a bad place."

Abigail didn't want to hear it, and changed the subject. "You said it was 'ghoul friendly', and you," she added, turning to Rathley, "said that 'at least I wasn't going to go ghoul', back when you found me. What is a ghoul? "

Before then she would have asked herself whether she really wanted to know, but now she knew that she didn't have that luxury. After the bottle caps and the iguanas she could not afford to be naive any more. She couldn't take anything for granted, or assume she knew what anything would be like from here on. She had to swallow her fear and discover these things, or else she would never be able to survive, with or without these four travellers.

Rathley, though his attention never strayed from the desert around him, was the first to answer. "You see a dead old timer staggerin' around and talkin' to his navel and stinkin' the place up, that's a ghoul. You can't miss the fuckers."

Kyle and Chopper chuckled at the description. Sharn didn't.

"They're people, sort of," Kyle clarified, "but they're ugly looking bastards with skin falling off and not too many marbles left. Ancient old people from when the bombs hit, who soaked up too many Rads but changed into something else before it could kill them. Nasty. I heard them called zombies too, but 'ghoul' is what most call them."

"They're nice people, mostly," Sharn said, trying to re-clarify Kyle's clarification. However, Abigail could tell she was having a hard time trying to paint them in a good light. "I mean, when they're not rabid and crazy. They're just... old, and senile a lot of the time. Most of them turned when the bombs hit, so they've been alive for longer than any human. It makes them weird sometimes. And sometimes they can be unpleasant to look at because of what the bombs did to them."

Chopper didn't have time for Sharn's attempt at the considerate approach. "They're ugly bastards, full stop. Decent ugly bastards sometimes, but you don't want to live with them. They should be dead but the radiation changed them, just like it changed a lot of things out here. So they might look dead, and even have their guts hanging out, but it won't bother them a bit. They'll die of old age eventually, but until then they'll keep wandering around and talking at everyone about glowing water and ghoul haters and whatnot."

It sounded farfetched, even for the surface, but then what evidence did Abigail have to say that it wasn't true? "... Really? They're dead people?"

"Not dead," Sharn replied. "Just old, and... falling apart a bit."

"It doesn't happen to everyone who gets radiated though," Chopper went on. "Usually radiation poisoning kills you before it can change you. Plus, anyone who took radiation meds would just die. Lower the radiation in your blood and it just gives it more time to kill you, not more time to keep you alive. We're talking massive amounts to turn ghoul. If you'd come out of the Cobalt Line -without- being half dead from Rad-X overdosing, then -maybe- that would have done it."

The idea sounded pretty grim, but if these ghouls had been alive since the two hour war then maybe they could tell her about it. About what her Grandmother had escaped as a child.

--

Looking at Corva from the outside, Abigail wondered whether it was less of a town and more of an overgrown village. She doubted that there were more than a hundred buildings, and she used the word 'building' loosely. From the southwest side the majority of them seemed to be constructed out of scavenged materials and put together in the style of a shanty town. Walls and roofs seemed to be put together out of anything from wooden boarding to corrugated steel to large plastic panelling, all bound together with a mix of welding, rope and earthen cement.

The few homes that did look purpose built from the start still betrayed their origins as scrap buildings, with metal poles still poking from the clay walls at strategic points. Such building would obviously stand up to weather better, but under the seemingly constant sun that was probably not so necessary.

But it was a town, and while not as pretty as she had hoped it was more than a dry field of tents. The town apparently had two main streets, one bisecting the town neatly from the south east to north west, along which the markets and shops were arranged, and another wide road reaching north east from the rough middle of that street, which provided the main road into and out of town. It also gave access to the market street for the town's 'police' and the trading caravans.

When she asked, the police were spoken of with less than reverence by all four of Abigail's saviours. They were more a small group of armed would-be mercenaries, paid for by the sheriff and mayor of the town. They were alternately heavy handed and impotent, and served as an image to make the town feel safe more than to actually enforce any law on the place. The caravan guards often did that more than well enough as it was.

And at either end of the market street, and at the main gate, there was a watch tower. They were not actually that tall, only a few metres higher than the roofs around them, which was why they had been so difficult to see from the distance. But they, more than anything else, gave the rows and clusters of ragged and earth-made buildings a sense of organisation and purpose. It was not a wasteland slum but a real town, lived in and protected by real people.

Also, as they were approaching from the rear of the town, the buildings were bound to be shabbier, Kyle had explained. That was where most of the homes were. The town from the market street forwards was for the bars, hotels, hostels and police quarters. The 'nightlife', and the people to control it.

The town, to Abigail's surprise, had no outer wall. They could have walked right in through the buildings at the back. "That's not kosher though," Rathley said, as they instead skirted the edge of the town. "The watch tends to get pissy if you just walk in. Wouldn't do much for the town if people just came and went like that, and missed the main streets. And no-one's mad or tough enough to come here from the Cobalt Line anyway, except exploring parties. And you, Sugar."

But Abigail saw the flaw in that plan, just at the same time that Kyle and Chopper did. "But, is there even anyone up there? Are the playing cards some sort of town symbol."

Rathley looked up and squinted at the tower to see what Abigail meant, and Abigail checked again, just to be sure she wasn't confusing them unnecessarily. The oversized playing card was still there in the open side of the watch tower; a seven of diamonds.

Looking around at the others, Abigail saw that Rathley's words could have come from any of them. "Oh for fuck's sake!"

Abigail looked to Sharn. "What is it?"

"The fucking Diamonds," Sharn said, with a mix of growl and fed up sigh. "Listen Abby-girl, just stay put. We might be able to make a little loot out of this, but this isn't a joke. The Diamonds are raiders, and they're either coming this way or they're already inside the town. They're pathetic ones, but they still have guns. Good guns, usually."

Kyle nodded. "Stay here, the both of you. Rathley, Sia, let's have a look around."

Chopper gave him a smile. "You don't have to tell me twice. Have fun playing with your guns, and try not to make too much work for me."

For Abigail it wasn't as simple as that though. "Hey, wait a minute! What do you mean..."

But the three of them were already gone, slipping through between the building and disappearing. And, just on sheer confused impulse, Abigail followed.

"Hey, where the hell do you think you're going!?" Chopper called after her, but Abigail wasn't listening to her. She was trying to ignore the pain in her legs, and the lost, confused feeling that had filled her the moment her three companions had left, and most of all the voice inside her head that was screaming 'IDIOT!' at her.

After she had passed a dozen or so houses she slowed to a walk. What on earth was she doing? They had told her to stay behind, and told her so for a very good reason. She was sick, and unarmed, and knew nothing about the town or about the raiders that were coming or were already there. She might end up with a knife or a bullet in her back, and she would never have known what hit her. She had just followed them on scared impulse, not even thinking, and what had it got her?

She spun around, suddenly panicking at her own foolishness. No-one was there, but that only made her feel more isolated. She had panicked when Sharn, Kyle and Rathley had left her so suddenly, and she panicked even more, because now not even Chopper was with her. She spun back, and again nothing.

And now she had no idea which way was forward, and which was back. The houses all looked the same to her. A part of her said just to stay put. Someone would find her.

She chose a direction and started walking, as slowly and carefully and quietly as she could, because she didn't -want- anyone to find her. Soon, she knew, she would emerge from the houses. Either it would be on the outside, and she could follow the town edge to find Chopper again, or it would be the inside, and she could simply turn around.

But it seemed to take a very long time. Too long. And everyone was gone. The town seemed deserted. Were they bundled away in their houses, she wondered, or were they out there where the trouble was?

And then she reached the edge. On the inside, between a fruit stall filled with ugly green and red things, and a caravan piled high with boxes.

And in front of her, she saw everyone. It must have been half the population of the town. And if they turned her way, everyone would see her. She suddenly looked for somewhere to hide, and threw herself behind the fruit stall. It was low, but she could hide behind it, and that was all that mattered.

There had been a line of brave and scared looking people on the other side of the street, looking on at the spectacle. There were lots of them, these Diamond raiders. Abigail knew which had been them in an instant. The onlookers had worn normal clothing, or the mish-mash of cloth and leather that passed for normal on the surface. Several others, the police Abigail guessed, wore leather armour much like Kyle's, only more complete in its coverage.

The raiders on the other hand, they looked even more ridiculous and bizarre. They had paler skin than most of the onlookers, and it made even more of a contrast since most of them were wearing black leathers of their own, but ones that looked more fashionable that protective. The outfits had torn sleeves, legs and backs and those tears were lined with jewellery, marking every gash and every bullet hole, and even the worn holes in the knees and elbows. Every tear was highlighted in gold and silver and gemstones, from broken rings and necklaces to messily crafted adornments of their own making.

Abigail, through her fear, thought that they could at least have dressed in red instead of black. Diamonds were supposed to be a red suit.

And, as Sharn said, they carried guns. Pistols, rifles, shotguns, even a big, long machine gun of some kind. Abigail poked her head up in morbid fascination. Seven raiders - for the seven of diamonds on the watchtower card, she surmised - each with a gun of their own that looked far more polished than the old thing that Chopper had in her belt. They could have killed everyone in the crowd in seconds, if they had wanted to.

But it looked like a stand off. The police had their guns trained on the Diamonds, and the diamonds were returning the favour, so if anyone shot anyone they would probably kill off more than half of each other's people. There were more police mercenaries than raiders, but the raiders had their guns on more targets, by the look of it.

And, even if anyone had wanted to take the risk and wipe out the Diamonds, they held their fire because one of the raiders, presumably the leader by the way he was talking, had a hostage. Abigail couldn't see her clearly, she was looking on from behind, but it was a girl, and a short one at that. A teenager, certainly.

On the other side, the Sheriff was trying to talk the Diamond into releasing the girl, but the more she listened the more Abigail could see that it was never going to happen. The girl was not just a hostage, but the prize as well.

"I ain't going to give her up, old bastard! Erin's mine, and I ain't gonna leave her in this shithole just so the Hearts can have her! You're gonna die anyway geezer! You want that for her too? 'coz  if she's gonna die anyway, I'm gonna be the one to do it! No Heart's gonna rape my girl!"

"I'm not 'your girl'," the hostage retorted, but she squealed as the raider held her tighter and pressed his large, silver pistol into her temple.

"You can be," the raider hissed to her. "Trust me, you'll learn! Do you want to die here?!"

She noticed that his gun also dropped a little as he whispered to her, and the police also noticed. In a moment almost half of both sides had switched their targets, and both the Diamond leader and the sheriff were shouting for them to hold their fire. The crowd fled like panicked birds as the machine gun's sights passed across them in that moment.

Abigail ducked behind the stall again, though now, with a clearer head, she was no longer so sure it could protect her from the gunfire. When nothing came of that crisis, she poked her head up again. The police had all of the raiders covered now, but several raiders with pistols now had a second in their other hand, or a melee weapon in their fingers. And the machine gun was now pointed directly at the sheriff.

And Kyle was standing with those few petrified or gutsy people where the crowd of onlookers had once been. He also had a gun in hand, just like the one that Diamond leader her against the hostage's head. Did that mean that Rathley and Sharn were also out there?

Abigail felt a swell of courage. She was hidden, behind Raiders, and no-one had a gun trained on her. If she could give them the opportunity, then Sharn and Kyle and Rathley could take it from there. It wouldn't have to be a big thing. Just a little bit of help, so that the Diamond's gun wasn't pointing at the hostage. Really, there would be no risk at all, and she could hide again before anyone knew what had happened.

She had found them down behind the stall, when it looked like they would start firing. A small basket, filled with very hard, round things. Some sort of nut or gourd, but just bigger than a softball.

Wall darts had been Abigail's favourite vault sport, but softball had been fun as well. She had always been picked in the first three, during the matches in physical conditioning class, because she pitched so well.

So pitch she did. But not towards a batter. It wasn't a throw for fun. It was a throw that hoped very hard that the Diamond would not pull his trigger out of reflex, and out of anger, that someone could consider human life so expendable.

But she had chosen her moment, when the raider leaned in to whisper at his hostage again, and his gun slipped slightly backwards so that his lips could reach the girl's ear. That would be enough. She prayed that would be enough. She prayed so hard that she forget to duck back down as the giant nut struck the man full in the side of the face. It pitched him to the side, and his arms flung out in surprise as he tried to stay on his feet.

Then the shooting started.

From some hidden corner the rifle shot rang out, and the lead Diamond's head jerked yet again, taking the unbalanced man clean off his feet and whirling sideways through the air, spraying blood from his temples like a perverse toy fountain. His huge silver pistol did fire, but way off target as he flailed in the air, and his bullet disappeared into a clay wall down the street.

Then everyone else opened fire. Abigail screamed and jumped out of her skin as she realised that she was still standing in the middle of those streams of flying lead, but she couldn't move. She was paralysed by the flashes and the spraying blood, and by the raiders and the green phantom monsters that paraded in front of her shaded eyes.

Somewhere in that mix she saw Kyle, striding forward confidently without a single gun trained on him, and his giant pistol tore into the arms of the machine gunner before he could even fire of a single shot. Two more bullets put the Diamond down for good. The police all opened fire with their pistols, to mixed effect, while the two that held shotguns filled another shotgun wielding Diamond with so much metal that he flew for metres before falling to the ground in a bloody, mangled heap. Two of the pistol Diamonds put their bullets into the better armed police men that covered them, leaving only a single mercenary alive, but with a nasty shot to the stomach for his trouble. Somewhere in the distance another shotgun barked out and the only uncovered raider keeled over with a scream, peppered with shot. The sheriff put him down for good.

And that left just a single raider, and another single sniper shot that took his own rifle from his hands with brutal efficiency. But he was otherwise unharmed, and he had been the one to see Abigail standing there and panicking with her hands over her ears. And, with his gun now gone and an unseen rifle trained on him, he broke into a run. Abigail had the cover he wanted, and she had been the cause of the slaughter.

Abigail's eyes met his, and his were eyes that burned with desperate vengeance. He, like the other Diamonds, had his backup weapon at his side, and he pulled the rusty crowbar from the gilded rope around his waist and swung it back in one swift motion. Abigail panicked as the raider closed the distance, and she reached for another of the pitching nuts. They were all she had.

The raider had reached the stall, ready to dive over it to meet her, when Abigail rose and threw her pathetic weapon. At that same moment another shot rang out, and a bullet punched its way through the raider's black jacket. It was a shallow shot, only catching his side, but it made his back arch in pain, and gave Abigail enough time to throw her improvised weapon into his face at point bank range.

The Raider fell back with the force of it, his nose breaking audibly, and he howled in pain. Abigail, full of terrified adrenaline and anger at the man who had been about to cave her skull in, leaped over the stall and onto his fallen body. He screamed again and clutched at his punctured side as she landed feet first on his stomach.

Abigail's feet hurt like hell now, but she was too blinded by rage to stop. She picked up the Diamond's fallen weapon, and returned his favour. This time, in one sickeningly familiar stroke of the crowbar, she left her enraged mark on her target. She broke his face with it. Then his skull. Then his ribs. Then his sternum. Then, with a desperate wail, she let the dull, rusty curve of the weapon hit what bloody pulp remain of the man's head, before it fell from her exhausted, limp fingers.

And then, before she realised it, Chopper was beside her, shouting in fury. "Abby! What the -fuck- did you think you were doing!?"

And then Rathley came, wearing a metal shell over his chest, applauding. "Holy shit Sugar, that was crazy cool!"

And then Kyle and Sharn. "Hell, Abby," said the pistol man, "that was nuts, but god damn if it didn't give Sia the perfect shot! You've got some serious guts."

"Yeah, that could have been... Abby-girl?"

And all Abigail could do was cry, clutching herself to Sharn as if the wild girl could undo it all. Tension, anger, adrenaline, fear, confidence; it all exploded from her in the most wracking tears Abigail had ever cried.

And Sharn held her until she was done, turning the girl away from the body of the man she had killed. She might have said something, and the others might have replied, but Abigail couldn't hear them over her own confused grief.

It was a while before the rest of the world existed to her again, and the noise was much louder than she remembered. The deafening roar of gunfire had been replaced by cries of relief and joy and sorrow, and strange people were dashing to the bodies of the fallen, only to be warned away by the sheriff and the men of his that remained unharmed.

And the sheriff was looking towards the hostage and Chopper as they talked, now some way off. They seemed to be discussing something, though the more Abigail watched the more convinced she became that it was an argument. The sheriff shouted something to them angrily, and Chopper ignored him. Instead the hostage just became more upset and irate, before Chopper turned angry herself and walked off.

Away from Abigail.

The hostage, however, did turn her way. Now that Abigail could see her, even through her sore and watery eyes, it was clear that the girl was young and pale skinned. She was about sixteen years old and slim faced, frail even, and with her black hair bobbed around her cheeks. She wore a simple long sleeved cotton top, and a heavy skirt that reached down to her ankles. Quite different from the mass of minimal shirts and various trousers that those around her preferred.

"You're Abby, right?" The girl asked in a quiet, unsure voice. "Um, my name is Erin. Thank you. For helping, and not getting me killed."

And just like that she nodded to Sharn, and Kyle, ignored Rathley, and turned away.

Kyle smiled as they watched her leave. "This could be interesting."

"What do you mean," Abigail replied, sniffing back her tears and trying to steady her shaking hands. "She and Chopper were fighting. Do they know each other?"

"Heh." Rathley smirked. "Know each other? Our doc stole that girl's innocence. Seduced her right and proper. And Dad wasn't too happy about it either."

Abigail was too stunned by that to say anything.

"She's not too happy about Butcher-girl leaving with us disreputable types either."

"You're the only disreputable one here, Rathley."

Abigail was still stuck several sentences back though. Chopper, and that Erin girl... had been together?

She looked down in contemplation, only to see the mangled body at her feet, bleeding onto the dry ground. Her stomach turned horribly. "Oh God." She swallowed back the taste of bile, and had to turn away. "Can we leave please?"

--

Abigail looked up, staring at the comfortingly familiar grey of the ceiling. The crumpled white sheets barely covered her, or the dreadlock haired girl that lay sleeping around her, but for that very reason Abigail was warm enough. She smiled to herself at the mumbled noises Gillian breathed across her cheek. The girl really was quite adorable when sleep had robbed her of all that confidence and bravado.

How could she have failed to fall in love with her? Gillian was tall enough to hold her as the protector rather than the protected, and sure enough to know what she wanted, and ask for it. Yet when she was dopey and ready for sleep, or for a good lie in, she could be petted and coddled like a kitten, and she lapped up the attention as such.

The vault rested quietly, leaving nothing but the ceiling and the girl in her arms to occupy her mind. It was the kind of dream that, when dreamt often enough, could been seen as such while she was still dreaming it. After all, they were not sixteen any more. Nor had Gillian ever accepted her virginity, or even her love. It was a fantasy that had plagued her many times when she had been that age, but she was happy to see it again after so long.

She resisted that dream temptation to look down at Gillian's face, or at the floor below the bunk they shared. Anything to reveal the dream as something else - anything disturb this warm and loved feeling - had to be avoided at all costs. She did not want to see what the girl she had once loved might become in her arms, and she knew that beneath them on the floor would be the stuff of nightmares.

So, as tempting as it was to give in to the nightmare, she stared upward and remained happy. She would let herself believe this wonderful fiction until the waking world came to take her away.

Abigail was a virgin, and she had not been afraid to admit as much, but it had been a matter of circumstance, rather than choice. For as long as she could remember having the notion of love, be it as idealised romance or as hormonal urges, she had always seen herself together with a woman, rather than a man. She had on occasion fantasised about men, she had tried very hard at times, but the notion had always left a worrying and uncomfortable distaste in her. Just as her friends had said they felt in those candid confessionals when they admitted having tried to think of themselves with other women.

Being gay had never been an issue in the eyes of Vault 42. Race, colour, gender and sexuality were all as equal as they could be.

Except that out of a little over three hundred men there had been only one openly gay couple. And no other lesbians. Not one. At least, not one that had ever come forward, or said as much on their census reports. Abigail knew. In her desperation one night she had done the unthinkable, and with her friend Daniel had broken into the vault computer's census records. He had been looking for other things, but Abigail had had only one thing in her mind. Was she going to live and die without anyone to love her as anything more than a daughter or friend?

That despair had come soon after the girls' candid little sixteen-year-olds talk about their boyfriends and sexual interests, or lack thereof. Abigail had rarely felt uncomfortable about anything they had ever had to say to each other. She was a confident and wilful girl, but that night she had said very little.

Jacquelyn had been the obvious star that night. She had never been overly beautiful by anyone's standards, but her attitude had been more than enough to win her a boyfriend almost twice her age. Had her parents known they would have lynched the poor man. Karen had her sweetheart from level nine, and being inseparable after being minded together since the age of four, she confided that they had already got to know each other as much more than friends. Geeky Patricia had always gone on about her designs on various members of the security teams, and claimed that she would act on them as soon as they accepted her constant petitions for a vocational change. Alice, ever level headed and studious, was waiting for a husband from her eventual career as well, and intended to be well read on how to keep hold of him once she found him. Funnily, Dee, who was privately known in their little group as rather obsessed with procreation, had spent the whole night beetroot red. She just didn't know who she wanted, or how to get them. Jacquelyn spent an inordinate amount of time sharing her 'secret' with the girl.

And Gillian, like Abigail, had been mostly quiet, and looking rather awkward. Abigail had dared to hope that Gillian might also have had preferences that ran the other way, since she chose not to speak up when the subject of 'alternative sexuality' was broached. After all, Gillian had always been a bit of a rebel. Perhaps that was a part of it as well.

She was wrong. When she had come out to Gillian that night, after the others had all returned to their bunk rooms, and confessed her attraction to her, Gillian had not responded in kind. She had not even let her down gently. She had simply frozen, and stammered out a defence of her heterosexuality before getting as far away from Abigail as she could, leaving her alone in the library after lights out.

And Abigail had stayed there. Better to wallow in her grief and be scolded the next day than return to her family bunk room and be asked for a reason for her tears.

And Gillian had not spoken to her after that. In such an enclosed environment avoiding someone required effort, and Abigail feared that she had lost her best friend forever. That had been the reason she had gone with Daniel to hack into the vault census' two days later. Little had she known that, on the third day, Gillian would seek her out after their studies, and apologise so much that they would both end up weeping again.

Gillian could not return Abigail's affections, but that was no reason to destroy their friendship, although Abigail did wonder on more than one occasion whether that was the real reason behind the girl abandoning her to Marcus, and electing to join the night shift. As if it was just to make sure that things didn't get too weird. But it hadn't stopped them being the best of friends. Abigail had recovered from her depression, and simply accepted her limited future. Maybe she would have found someone who had never admitted their sexuality even on the census reports.

And until then she enjoyed the dreams, where Gillian - or later, the married Overseer Beatrice - could be everything Abigail had wanted.

Abigail smiled, recognising the smell of those silly dreadlocks. They were hardly clean, but Gillian's defiance had been a part of her charm when it came to that kind of thing.

"Mmmm," Gillian stirred beside her, "Abby-girl."

Abigail realised that it wasn't Gillian any more. It was a shorter, stronger girl, older than sixteen, and her hair tickled against her face.

"Abby-girl?"

Abigail felt tears leaking from her eyes as her contentment fell apart...

--

...And she woke up with a shudder, clutching at the thick blanket, Rathley's shades still pressed into the sides of her head. The surface blanket was far to hot for her, even though she only wore her jumpsuit, and she threw it off herself. It felt scratchy through her jumpsuit, which was already itching against her skin with two days worth of dry sweat. She looked up at the ceiling, hoping to see the safe greyness of the bunk room metal, but her eyes were met by the dry wood of the hotel room instead.

"Abby-girl? Sorry I woke you." Sharn looked at her with such compassion, but it was not the loving compassion that she had wanted in her dream. It was the compassion for a poor, helpless little kitten. "Are you feeling okay now?"

Abigail sat up, and rubbed at her watery eyes, trying very hard not to look like she had been about to cry. She was stronger than that.

"No," she said, sounding as bitter about the question as she felt. It was unfair, she knew, but she was -not- feeling better. "No, I'm not."

"Abby-girl," Sharn said in sympathy. She obviously wanted to ease her mind, without knowing why Abigail was behaving this way after being so vulnerable and quiet. "He was a raider. A Diamond! He got exactly what he deserved!"

"I didn't want to become a murderer!!" Abigail shouted back, staring daggers at Sharn.

Behind the desert girl Chopper walked through the door of the hotel room. "You started that fight, and you finished it. What did you expect? You'd rather it was you with a crowbar in your skull?"

She gave Abigail a very fearsome look, and Abigail retreated further back up the headboard of the bed.

"And you started a fight, with raiders, without a weapon or anything on but that nothing of a skin suit. You should be -dead- after what you pulled!"

"Chopper!"

"Shut up, Sia." Chopper's eyes never left Abigail. "I told you what to do, and you tried to get yourself killed the first chance you got."

"I was -scared-! I panicked! And that bastard -deserved- it!!"

"Then murder was exactly what you wanted, wasn't it. As long as you weren't the one doing it I suppose?."

"NO!"

Sharn stepped in, "Chopper, stop it, that's enough. Abby, uh, Corva has very generous looting laws, so I made sure no-one took what's yours." She held up the bundle she carried, held together by the tied up jacket that the Diamond had worn. Abigail's share of the spoils from her kill.

"GET THAT AWAY FROM ME! JUST... GET IT OUT! Please! I don't want it!"

Abigail could feel the tears flowing freely down her cheeks again. What the hell was she doing, being offered her victim's clothes and gun and God only knew what else?

But there wasn't any God up on the surface, she realised with a sudden, haunting clarity. She may have been lax in her prayers, and skipped chapel in favour of the gymnasium or a good book, but she had believed.

Now she didn't. Not any more. Just like that. And Abigail Iseley suddenly felt very small. All she could do now was put her head in her hands and weep for what she and the world had become.

"I'll just... I'll leave these outside, Abby," Sharn said quietly, and sounding unsure of where she should be.

Chopper on the other hand just sat at the room's battered and broken looking dresser, and waited for Abigail to finish. Outside they could hear Sharn and Kyle talking, but what about was muffled beneath Abigail's sobs.

Once she could bring herself to raise her head again, she found Chopper waiting. She wanted to spit out some horrid rebuke at the woman, but her mind didn't seem up to the challenge. All she could manage was to glare.

Chopper returned the look with a curious one of her own, before she got to her feet. "Alright. Strip."

Abigail's glare faltered and fell. "W-what?"

"Strip, Abby. Take that skin suit off. I might as well see how your body has fared these last few days, since it's obvious you won't be getting out of that bed."

Abigail's glare returned, but with much less vitriol behind it. After a full minute without winning the war of stares, she looked away and peeled herself out of the clothing. She was learning to hate this world even as she became more and more a part of its dirtiness and brutality, but she still wanted to be healed. "... Fine."

And so she lay resoundingly silent and hideously naked while Chopper looked her over with keen eyes, back and then front, poking and prodding her all the while.

"Just scream if it hurts too much," Chopper said, but Abigail was steadfast in ignoring what was being done to her. And in truth, it no longer hurt as she was touched and moved around. The sting whenever something pressed her skin had faded dramatically over the last days, and her muscles protested only in exhaustion from all the undue exercise, not out of irradiated agony. She could swallow free from discomfort, and her abdomen only twinged instead of crying when Chopper's tough hands explored it, pressing down into her belly.

Her hands were not so red now, and were peeling, but they only itched, instead of stinging. The same was true of her face, which she assumed was similarly ugly.

But looking at herself her real worry was that her ribs showed, at her sides and under her meagre breasts. She did not feel starved, the root mush had averted that, but she looked it. At lest she recognised her muscles as still being there. It was nice to know that she could not lose her athlete's form after only a few weeks inattention.

She was also glad that Chopper's fingers did not cause her to recoil when they alighted on her right shoulder. Whatever injury the shotgun had inflicted on her had been long in fading, but it had now gone.

But no matter how she tried to ignore it, she was painfully aware of the examination, and of her nakedness. Had this been her life for those three days she had spent unconscious and in Chopper's care? The thought made her very uncomfortable. She was also aware that Chopper's eyes might be doing more than the medical examination she had thought, back in the desert. If she was a lesbian, then what was Chopper's judgement on her? Did she even have one? Abigail knew that she herself would not have been able to avoid having an opinion, had their positions been reversed.

"Chopper?"

That eyebrow of hers rose again. "Yes?"

"You're... gay, right? Lesbian, I mean."

Chopper smirked. "Yep, as bent as they come."

Somehow hearing that, even from someone like Chopper, was such a great relief.

"... I am too."

--

To be continued...

--

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2008


	4. Trial by Pigrat!

After the Vault: Chapter 04

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

--

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 04

Trial by Pigrat!

"Chopper?"

That eyebrow of hers rose again. "Yes?"

"You're... gay, right? Lesbian, I mean."

Chopper smirked. "Yep, as bent as they come."

Somehow hearing that, even from someone like Chopper, was a relief.

"... I am too."

Chopper's eyes left Abigail's shoulder, and she gave the girl an amused look while her second eyebrow joined the first in trying to climb up her forehead. Then, to Abigail's discomfort, she took a casual glace across Abigail's very naked body.

"Really now? Is that a proposition, Abby?"

Abigail blanched, realising her mistake, and tugged the overly thick bed sheet over herself. "What? No!" Then she tried to stop back-pedalling before she insulted the woman any more. "I mean, no it's not. I just wanted to say it. I..."

And once again she was spilling her secrets out to someone just because they were there. "Look, I never had anyone I could say it to that might understand, okay?"

Chopper shook her head and walked back around the bed to the rickety old chair by the dresser. "That might understand what? That you like fucking women? It's not exactly a rarity around these parts, whatever the men folk might want to think."

Abigail decided to shut up. Having a heart to heart with anyone but Sharn was destined to leave her feeling more embarrassed and frustrated than when she had kept her secrets to herself.

Chopper seemed to be enjoying the conversation too much to let it drop though. "That bad, huh?" She giggled. "You poor innocent thing."

A giggle coming from Chopper sounded rather like a giggle coming from a hyena. It was a much lighter sound than Abigail had been expecting, and she couldn't quite tell whether she should be thankful for that tuneful amusement in place of Chopper's usual scathing sarcasm, or scared that the woman was losing her mind. It was -that- sort of giggle.

"Stop it!" Abigail blurted out from the bed. "Is that what that girl Erin was? Just someone to... use?"

Abigail's frustration turned more pointed. Screw politeness. If Chopper wanted her to show backbone, she'd give her all the backbone she could take. "And how old is she anyway? How old was she before you'd had enough of her?"

Chopper smile didn't drop from her lips, but it did fade from her eyes. "Old enough to learn what her anatomy can do for her. Actually, I never cared enough to ask."

Abigail would have recoiled further if it had been possible. "You're criminal!"

Chopper only laughed in response. "Ha! Given that her father makes the laws in this town, yes, I'm most definitely criminal. But if it makes you feel any better she wasn't any kind of child when I stole that precious virtue of hers. Not by your standards anyway. Sharn's maybe, but then by her definitions I was the one who matured her!"

Abigail didn't believe it, even though she herself could be mistaken for a younger girl thanks to her slight build. "So how old is she then? Erin?"

Chopper shrugged. "I never did find out. And I'd rather not give her any more illusions at this stage."

"So why did you leave her then? She didn't live up to your standards?"

This time chopper's smile did fade, if only slightly. "No, she didn't. Erin's a good girl, but that's all she'll ever be. I don't want that kind of stone around my neck."

In Abigail's mind, that confirmed her opinion. "So you didn't love her, like I said. She was just a toy you got bored with."

Chopper shrugged and rose from the chair. "She was a nice diversion while it lasted."

"Stop avoiding the question! If you're so confident just tell me! You didn't love her, did you!?" Abigail accused.

Chopper stared down at Abigail as she sat defiant in her bed. "I haven't loved her for a while, and I wasn't looking for love when I chose her. But I did for a bit. That's the problem with people who are easy to love. It's just as easy to fall out of love with them once you find out who they really are."

Listening to that, Abigail's anger deflated, and left her feeling very young and foolish. But she still didn't like what she had heard. "So what was she really like then?"

"Weak."

"That's not fair. We're not all strong and pitiless like you people."

Again, Chopper shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "'Pitiless'? Can't help that. You saw what happened. That wasn't just chance. She can't deal with real life, because of her trust and gullibility, and her 'pity'. She can try, but when it comes down to it she doesn't want to become the kind of person who will survive out here. She's too happy being protected behind Daddy's shotgun. She'll make a good nurse or welcoming committee, but she doesn't want to be any more than that."

And what was wrong with that, Abigail thought? It sounded like a good life, if she could live it. "So what about me then? What if I don't want to stay around until you all realise I'm a stone around your necks? What if I want to have a normal life like her?"

Chopper gave her a long, studious look, as if she was examining her aura for the truth or the lie behind her questions. "... Then stay. Shack up with her and get her off my back if you really want. Maybe you'll make a nice pair of victims waiting to happen."

And then she gave that cocky, self assured smirk. "But I don't think you will. If you were the damsel type, why'd you crack that Diamond's head in with a burrow nut? You might be completely fucking stupid, but you survived it. Maybe we can beat that idiocy out of you and leave your nerve intact. You can play the shrinking violet all you like, but you survived in the desert with a body full of drugs, and you survived taking on those damned Diamonds. In your place, Erin wouldn't have."

The thought made Abigail deeply worried. Just how crazy had she been to do what she did in that fight? She was lucky she hadn't been killed. "What if I don't want to be that kind of person?"

"You're the one who threw the burrow nut. You -are- that kind of person. And most everyone in town knows it." From the look on her face, Chopper was loving this. "Stories travel fast in town, and they're making up some real good ones about their new mystery Scav, who took down Jack of the Diamonds and one of his guys with nothing but a nut and the raider scum's own weapon!"

Abigail's eye grew wide. These people were saying -what- about her? "You're kidding, right?"

Chopper shook her head. "Nope. You're going to get an interesting welcome, I bet."

"Oh god." I don't even know these people, she thought. What on earth would they be expecting of her? And how was she supposed to behave if she was going to be treated like some sort of road warrior. "What's a Scav?"

"Scav: Scavenger. Most of us travelling types are Scavs, hunting up old equipment or lost loot and the like. And anyway, if it's any consolation," Chopper added, frivolously changing the subject "all that RadAway I pumped into you looks like it's done its job. On the outside, anyway. Any major radiation problems would have hung around, but it all looks and feels fine. Except the scarring on your back, but that's not going to kill you."

For once Abigil was grateful for both the change of conversation and what Chopper had to say. Amazingly the doctor had actually sounded like one. "My skin still itches though."

Chopper waved off her concern. "Give it another few days and it should finish complaining. Your body is just fighting off the last of the rads. And that sunburn. Tell me as soon as your urine settles down too; which it should, soon enough. Then I can take you off my root mix permanently. 'Till then I'll get Sia to try you on a little proper food in the evenings to tide you over."

Thank god for that, Abigail thought, though what might be provided as 'food' was anyone's guess. Hopefully being in town would mean it was something she could stand to look at on her plate.

And clothes. She wouldn't be able to stand putting on that filthy jumpsuit again until it was washed to within an inch of its life, no matter how familiar and comforting it was.

And just how was she going to accomplish that? She couldn't walk down the hall and put her clothes in the laundermatic.

"Um, that's good. Thanks. Could you, uh, ask Sharn to come back please?"

"Oh?" Chopper asked, smiling broadly. "You fancy your hand at converting her with that sheet clad look?"

Abigail frowned and shook her head. "I need to borrow some clothes, okay?! And get my own ones washed. I only have the one set since you threw out my others, along with my hair ring I'm guessing."

She didn't say it, but it was clear in her voice what she thought of that, and what the little hoop of metal had meant to her.

"One of the larger bits of scarring," Chopper said in return. "Behind your left hip."

Abigail felt behind herself on instinct. There was a slightly raised line that was more tender than the rest, and looking back at it she could see that it was the one Chopper meant.

"Sorry we had to ditch it, but it wasn't doing you any good."

Abigail conceded the point, but made it clear that she still wasn't happy about it. "I thought as much, but you could have told me."

Chopper ignored the retort, and instead answered Abigail's other request. "You'll have to wait for Sia, they'll all be negotiating our pay with our employer, but if you want to wash that skin suit I'll get the owner to bring a bath and a scrubbing board. I could probably do with a wash myself."

Abigail had noticed, and 'probably' wasn't the half of it.

--

It soon turned out that Abigail's room wasn't quite the refuge she was hoping for, because between the four of the travellers they only ever rented two rooms between them no matter where they were. So, Sharn and Kyle got one, and Chopper got the other. Rathley wasn't welcome in either, but he was an outdoorsy type and pitching a tent beneath the stars was as much shelter as he could ever stand. In town it didn't matter anyway, because he would be in some bar or brothel all night anyway.

As such it shouldn't have come to Abigail as a surprise that she would have no privacy as she bathed in the slightly bent tub. She had no caps of her own to pay for a room; she was staying there on Chopper's dubious generosity, and the dirty woman did not have the decency to leave her to it.

She did, however, allow Abigail the first bath, and then allow her to wash her jumpsuit, before she herself would step into the cooling and increasingly murky water. And she hadn't tried to make conversation, or leer as Abigail had bathed. Abigail was grateful for the quiet as she washed, while Chopper organised her medical box.

In fact, it had been Abigail's turn to stare as she had bathed. It seemed as though a lot of work went into that white and red tin of Chopper's. She would grind up roots and stalks, mix them thoroughly with a splash of solution she poured from an old Nuka Cola bottle, and once the cloudy mix was rendered down to nothing but liquid she would re-fill her hypodermics and stimpak casings with perfectly steady hands. Of course, that was after the needles had been boiled and cleaned. She even washed her hands before filling each one.

For the first time, Chopper looked like a professional. As Abigail had stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in her sheet, she had conceded that the woman was desperately skilled. Unpleasant to talk to perhaps, but not wholly deserving of the accusations Abigail had laid upon her. Abigail knew first hand how potent those drugs of hers were, and she was making them out of nothing but scavenged meds and herbs.

"Chopper," she finally asked, once she had finished grinding her suit against the washboard, "where are my things?"

She wasn't about to try having a conversation again, not after the last one, but she could at least stop being so stubborn and silent after watching the woman work for over an hour.

Chopper looked up from her mixing bowl. "Over there, by the door. Sharn sorted it out for you. Except that pip-computer-thing. We haven't found out where Rathley stashed it yet."

That was a name that Abigail had not thought she would ever hear again. "My PipBoy? Really?! I thought you said you had to throw it away! Because of the radiation."

Chopper gave her a look that asked just how dense she was. "When did I say that? I -said- everything with your '42' logo on it was in decent shape. Rathley just claimed it as spoils when I stripped you in the desert. That was my excuse to give you his shades."

Abigail reached up to the tinted glasses on her face. After all that time without it, believing her own personal data companion was as lost as her vault, this news came to her like a shot of adrenaline to a failing heart. She laughed as the irrational relief flooded her. "Oh god! Hahaha, oh thank you Rathley, you bastard!"

Chopper pointed down to the bath tin while Abigail smiled up to the ceiling. "Are you done with that water?"

Abigail nodded, walking over to collect the single large bag by the door. "It's all yours!"

When she turned back, bag in hand, she hadn't quite been prepared for the sight of Chopper stripping to take her own bath. That heavy and hot looking coat came away to reveal a very beleaguered shirt that did just as good a job of hiding the woman's figure, since it was too large even for Chopper's tall body, and hung shapelessly from her more than amble chest.

Abigail looked away so as not to see beyond that, and focused on lugging her bag to the large bed. The woman obviously had no modesty of her own, as well as having no consideration for the modesty of others. True, she had caught glimpses here and there out in the desert, but this wasn't the desert any more. This was their room, and Abigail no longer had the vast outdoors or her own insignificance to distract her. The last thing she needed was to be getting images of Chopper naked.

Then she paused in unzipping the bag, and the thought struck her. What on earth did she have to be embarrassed about? Chopper had already seen, and even felt, every inch of Abigail's body. Chopper had no modesty because she didn't -care- if Abigail saw her. And turnabout was fair play. Chopper had taken the time to evaluate her, so why the hell couldn't Abigail return the favour.

So she did. Chopper had mostly disrobed by then, pulling off her loose leather trousers under which nothing was left to the imagination. The only underwear she wore was her utilitarian and clumsily stitched bra.

Which she evidently needed. Overall, despite the fact that her face flushed hot at her own barefaced voyeurism, Abigail didn't know whether to be impressed or not. Chopper's body was still in good shape, so it was true that her dust-lined face made her look older. She was probably only thirty or so when it came to it. After becoming so used to seeing the muscles on Kyle's, Rathley's and Sharn's bodies, Chopper seemed abnormally normal. She had biceps, but beyond that she was the kind of softer shape that a woman was supposed to be, if the amount of teasing Abigail had received over her own toned physique was anything to go by.

And Abigail had been both right and wrong in her earlier assumptions. Chopper was robust, but not stocky as Abigail had expected. She had a bit of a gut, probably from too much alcohol, but it only stood out because her waist and backside were unexpectedly slim. All the width was in her hips and thighs, and of course that bust, which fell by three inches when she undid the large safety pin that held her bra together. In fact, Abigail thought they looked an awful lot better in their natural shape and not crammed up against Chopper's chest, but then who was she to say so when she had never even had enough of a chest to bother with anything but a sports bra, and then only in the gym or on stage.

She was no model, that was for certain, but as much as she wanted to Abigail's didn't think she looked -bad-. But then again, the marks of this harsh surface showed on Chopper's body clearly. There was an unmistakable and very deep gunshot scar in her right thigh, and more than a few slash marks across the backs of her shins. Abigail didn't want to know how or where she had got those.

But Chopper had noticed the attention she was getting, and told her anyway. "Rats did most of them. Mainly pigrats. As long as you can see a common wasteland variety rat you'll be able to gut it no problem, and molerats - giant furry bastard rats, four feet at the shoulder and without the tail - you'll see coming a mile off. Pigrats, they're still small enough to hide, like a small, fat dog, but they'll shred a child up in ten seconds flat because they're just as vicious as any of them. I still can't get used to fighting them, because they look like such a joke."

"And this," she turned to show Abigail the bullet scar in her leg, "was a point-four-four that went straight through another Scav before it ended up in me. Digging that out of taught me why not to hang around in a firefight."

Abigail stared morbidly for a moment longer before turning back to her bag. "I see."

"No verdict?" Chopper asked, but by the tone of her voice she was obviously teasing her again.

Abigail responded in kind, though without the edge in her voice this time. "I thought you'd be fatter."

Chopper laughed. "Of course! We've been living on iguana, brush sprouts and water for a week! It's the business men and water merchants who get fat. They've got the caps for real food."

Abigail found herself smiling at Chopper's tone for once. That was an opinion they could both agree on, be it water merchants or Vault-Tec. Those with the monopolies were more than worth their disgust.

As she laid her things out on the bed Abigail was glad to see how much of her packing had survived. Her miniature library was all there, most of her med kit - minus some stimpaks and a lot of RadAway, her maintenance multi-tool was there, all the survival essentials except the knife, and even all of that useless money, now just worthless green paper. And her PipBoy would be there too, as long as Rathley hadn't sold it. That would be the best. It had the map-markers and technical holotape schematics she had downloaded from her vault libraries, but more importantly right now, her diaries and notes. She did not want to forget the vault now, or anyone in it, and that would allow her to remember them as she wanted to, no matter how painful those memories might have become.

"Hey," Chopper then said from the tub as she rested her arms on the rim, "those too."

Abigail followed Chopper's finger, and saw the jacket-bag that contained her loot from the dead Diamond.

"If you don't want it then trade it away," Chopper followed up, "but that's yours now girl, by Corva's law. Make the most of it, because most towns aren't so generous."

Abigail looked at the makeshift bundle with unease, but that was how the surface worked. If she didn't claim them, then someone else would. Either she profited from the murder she had committed, or someone else did. A justified murder, if there was such a thing. If she had not killed him, surely someone else would have. And there was no shame in bettering herself. If she did not, how would she survive out there?

She got up, and brought the bundle over with nervous fingers. The black, gold-lined leather did not feel good in her fingers, and she unwrapped it hurriedly before casting it aside. That would be the first thing to get rid of, she thought.

Honestly, though she didn't really want to touch any of it, she was surprised how much the raider had carried with him on their little fiasco. Most obviously there was the crowbar. That was discarded on top of the black jacket and pants, to be got rid of as soon as possible. It was still stained with the raider's blood, and it was too unwieldy as a weapon anyway. If she needed it as a tool, she had her multi-tool set, which she was far more used to.

The Diamond's vest and boots were set aside next. She wasn't about to stoop to -wearing- a dead man's things, and they certainly wouldn't have fitted her regardless. But then she did start finding things to keep. Seven bottle caps lay haphazardly among the loot, and she took those and set them with her own wad of useless paper cash. She doubted it was worth anything much, but it was money. She guessed the gaudy silver medallion would also be worth something. There were also a few stimpaks, which still looked like they were filled with the proper meds. The seals around the plungers of the hypodermics were still unbroken.

"Chopper? What's this?"

She held up another, similar hypodermic, but this one did not bear the Stimpak name, and was hooked up to a couple of additional capsules by a few thin tubes. It looked fairly brutal, with such a long needle.

Chopper huffed derisively. "Psycho. Save if for trading with other raiders, when we find some worth trading with. It's a nasty little drug. Good for those fuckers if they can't be bothered to wear proper armour. It knocks out their pain receptors, and gives them a real rage high. Don't use it."

Abigail carefully laid it back down. "Right."

Abigail was about to move on to examine the last of it, the rifle and a clip of ammunition, when the door opened to announce the rest of their troop as they returned.

Sharn and Kyle were beaming. "Not bad for a busted trip. Four hundred a piece, in hard caps!" Sharn said, lobbing a rattling bag to Chopper, who caught it two handed from the bath. "He wasn't too happy, but a job's a job! Uh, you know that water looks pretty nasty, Chopper?"

"Oh, hey," Kyle said, being the first to turn their attention to Abigail. "Checking out your gun? That's not a bad one, for a rifle. Solid kick and solid power."

Rathley's following comment mirrored Chopper's enquiring look. "You think she can handle it though? No offence Sugar, but you're kinda small for a rifle."

"Hey, if I can handle a rifle I'm sure she can, right Abby-girl?"

Abigail didn't know, being thrust into the subject so suddenly. Kyle evidently couldn't wait to engage her with his own appreciation for firearms, and Sharn seemed similarly excited, but Abigail already had a sketchy past with them. "I don't know. I don't know anything about guns, except I think I nearly broke my shoulder with a shotgun when I killed that giant monster raider, back in the vault."

Kyle gave her a contemplative look as if sizing her up for it, even though she was dressed only in her sheet. "Well, maybe it would be a bit strong for you. Well, I've got a spare fourteen mil pistol to trade after this afternoon, if you want to make a deal for it. And I'm sure Sia'd take the rifle shells off your hands."

Sharn nodded, smiling, while Abigail looked lost. "What's 'fourteen mil'?" Then she shook her head to clear it of all the gun-babble. She had a more pressing issue in her mind. "Rathley, can I have my PipBoy back please?"

Three more pairs of eyes turned to the old wastelander, who frowned back at them. Then he dug into his back pocket, and pulled out the wrist mounted computer. "Trade you. My shades, Sugar."

"Rathley, just give it to her!" Sharn growled. "How's she going to get herself a pair of her own if she can't see?!"

Kyle was much more direct, and with a quick swipe of his hand grabbed hold of the computer. "Let it go old man."

Abigail watched it all in slow motion. "Stop! Don't you dare break it!" She reached up and pulled the shades from her nose, shutting her eyes so as not to be blinded by the late sunlight that still came through the window. "Here. Just give it back."

She felt them taken from her, and then the PipBoy was placed in her hand. "There you go Sugar. Nice that someone's reasonable around here," Rathley said. "You sellin' that shit on the floor?"

Abigail let out a resigned sigh. "Yes. I don't think I want the gun either."

Rathley chuckled. "A pair 'a shades ain't gonna cost that much Sugar. You two women have fun being nekkid together, I figure us three want to be shoppin' right about now!"

"You're such a prick, Rathley," she heard Sharn say, but neither she nor Kyle were going to argue. The deal was done, and with a minimum of hassle, which right now was just the way Abigail wanted it. "Sit tight Abby-girl. I'll find you the best pair in town. And make sure the old bastard doesn't cheat you."

"Thanks."

"Hey, -reasonable-, remember Sugar?"

And then the sound of them all stomping back out. Abigail had to wonder just what they had taken from that nasty pile of blood earned winnings.

She heard Chopper stand up from the bath, and the red glow behind her eyelids became faint. "Open your eyes, Abby," she said, "the window's shut."

She did. She could see, but everything looked the wrong shade of brown or yellow or green. Like a monitor after someone's child had fiddled with the brightness and contrast settings. Chopper's body looked at the same time too pale and too vibrant, and the glistening of the water was starkly white on her skin.

"From that look of yours I guess I either get a decent score after all, or the world still doesn't look right."

Abigail flushed again and looked away. "Stop teasing me."

"Aww, look at her blush. Heh, if you do ever want to lose that cherry of yours then let me know. I can assure you, you'd enjoy it."

Abigail did not need to hear that right then. "No. Just... Sorry, but no."

Behind her, Chopper shrugged and reached for the towel. "Why sorry? You're gay, clean, mostly rational... I might as well say the offer's there if you change your mind."

What was Abigail supposed to say to that? "Do you say that to all the naive ones?"

Chopper smirked. "Not all."

--

For Abigail it was a tense wait for Sharn to return with her new shades. She knew that, for all her bluster, spending puberty without an outlet for her sense of romance had left her rather idealistic, so she wasn't really comfortable sharing the room with someone who had just said they would be happy to sleep with her, but who probably didn't really care one way or the other beyond that. Abigail had always hoped that, should she ever find another lesbian in the vault, she could learn to be less high minded about such things, but that would have had to come with time.

As it was she spent that hour trying very hard to forget just who had just propositioned her for a roll in the sack, and focused on her belongings. From the look of them she was, like her rescuers, little more than a scavenger. If that was the first impression she had made on the townsfolk then she hoped she could soon prove herself to be more than that.

When that awkwardly quiet hour was up, and Chopper had once again clothed herself and thrown out the now filthy bath water, Kyle and Sharn returned looking triumphant with her new winnings. When she enquired about Rathley they said he had left them to it soon after they had gone out, no doubt to end up very drunk in the less reputable part of town.

"Forget about him," Sharn said, brandishing their purchase. "I bet these will look a lot better on you than his crappy old shades did."

The glasses she held up were a lot less bulbous looking than Rathley's, and more like the ones Abigail had seen in the vault cinema. She had actually liked Rathley's because they really did cut out all the bright light, but she took these with a grateful smile. They were at least -hers-. "Thank you, Sharn. Uh, Sia."

Kyle grinned. "Hey, she's learning."

Sharn gave him a put out look. "And after I spent twelve years getting used to 'Sharn', you lot get her mucking about with my name as well."

Abigail held up her hands to quell the pair. "Um, I think you look more like a 'Sharn' anyway."

Kyle put on a mock sigh, while Sharn gloated. "Spoilsport," the gun man said, but he conceded his defeat.

"Come on, put them on already," Sharn followed up, after giving her man a light smack.

Abigail felt grateful for her eagerness, and did as she was told. Once again the world dimmed, and its colours faded back into their 'normal' tones. She looked around the edges of them, and was grateful to find that very little of that over-saturated world could be seen around them, unless she looked down at herself and the bed-sheet she wore. She got up from the bed and opened the curtains over the windows, squinting as she did just in case. To her relief, the world outside didn't blind her from her peripheral vision, and she was surprised to see the deep red of the sky as the sun set. It really didn't feel like the day was coming to an end.

"They're good," she beamed back at Sharn and Kyle.

"They look as much," Kyle appreciated. "Get some proper clothes on and they'll have to think twice before messing with you. Though you might want to bulk up before you start mouthing off to any more raiders."

"She doesn't look like a tough-guy," Sharn chastised mildly. "That's the 'cool Scav' look, Abby-girl, right to the bone. Especially with your hair like that too. If you look like that - like it's effortless even after coming out of the desert - then people will know you're more than just a junk-heap rat."

Abigail reached up to adjust the shades on her nose. That was exactly the kind of impression she wanted to give. She wasn't going to be a scavenger. She had the knowledge, and even if she was a bit unlucky and anxious about her skills she could learn new ones and hone what she already had. She was going to try and be something special. Someone people needed, even if they didn't know it.

She smiled, feeling as cool as those men on the big screen had looked. "Good."

Then again, maybe some of that cool was the draught, since she was still wearing nothing but an overly thick bed sheet. Chopper handed her her now dry jumpsuit, and Abigail took the hint while the others smiled or chuckled at her beam of confidence.

Once she emerged from behind the open wardrobe door, now dressed, Sharn handed her a bag much like the one she had tossed to Chopper before going for her sunglasses. "Here, these are your too."

The bag was much lighter than it looked as Abigail took it, and the contents rustled and rattled.

"I got some money for you too," Sharn said, as Abigail untied the string at the top and peered in at the bottle caps. "Those old crowbars aren't worth much, unless they've busted the skull of someone important. Since there's a buzz about you and the Diamond you finished off, I could talk him up a bit."

Abigail didn't know if twelve or fifteen bottle caps was a lot of money, she guessed not, but it tripled her 'cap wealth' as she was beginning to think of it.

And now that she had it, Sharn was interested in seeing her spend it. "Come one. Let's go get something to eat before it gets dark! You too, Chopper!"

Kyle gave Abigail a smile that tried to look assuring. "The brahmin steaks here are pretty good, as long as the wind hasn't changed the last few months.

At the mention of food Abigail felt her stomach rumble. The thought of eating anything other than salty root mush was tempting beyond belief. Even if she was apprehensive after these peoples' lizard barbecue.

"I'm starving! But what is brahmin?"

"Brahmin, err... brahmin?" Sharn tried to explain. However, without any other point of reference herself, she once again ended up looking a little wrong footed by Abigail's lack of basic surface knowledge. "You know, beef?"

"Brahmin are what used to be cows," Chopper clarified, "more or less."

--

Brahmin, Abigail had decided, were delicious. The real animal meat was fibrous in a stringy but more succulent way than the synthetic meat she had eaten before. It got stuck between her teeth, but the unfamiliarity of it had been a minor gripe when she could eat real food again after so long.

And it had been very real. Cooked brown but still soft, the steak had been better than she had both hoped and expected, filled with the taste of coal and some kind of sweet barbecue syrup. Ballast had been toasted unleavened bread, and there was not a root or twig in sight. To be able to chew her food and have it actually release its flavour onto her tongue was heavenly. Perhaps it was the hunger and desperation for a proper meal that made it so good, but for the first time on the surface she had truly -enjoyed- the night. And she hadn't had to kill, gut or skin the animal first, which had really helped!

It was only the next morning that she found out what brahmin actually were. Taking her on a tour of the town Sharn had happily agreed to show her to the brahmin pens when she had asked, and as Chopper had said the night before they really were cattle, more or less.

In fact the 'more' seemed to be more applicable than the 'less'. Abigail had balked, and had needed a moment to make sure that her new shades were not playing tricks on her. Each of the deep brown animals had two heads sprouting from their hunched and scraggy looking shoulders. Two heads that seemed to work rather well together, one keeping watch while the other grazed on the brittle yellow grass at the edges of their pen, or flapping their ears at each other to better ward off flies.

And it was not only that, but the majority had heads of both sexes, if Abigail remembered her animal history lessons correctly. One bull head, complete with horns, and one cow. And every animal had udders. They were, as Sharn explained, fully hermaphrodite, and the infertile aberrations of their species were those brahmin whose heads shared the same gender.

Abigail guessed she should have been more shocked, especially given her dinner the night before, but it was the first time she had seen a cow of any kind in the flesh, and while more than a little odd, it didn't really disturb her any more than when she had first seen Sharn, Chopper or Rathley. More worrying was the way their backs hunched with lumpy and unhealthy looking flesh, while further back on the beasts she could have sworn that they were so malnourished their ribs actually emerged from their skin.

"Eh, that's just the way they are," Sharn had said, giving a shrug. To her, this obviously looked normal. "They look a bit rough, but if it weren't for the brahmin we'd be screwed. They help farm, pull the trade caravans, and provide milk, meat, leather, bone, whatever you want. And they survive alone in the desert, so they need almost no looking after.

"That," she said pointing to one of the bony, two headed cattle, "is what keeps us going half the time."

That was rather a sad omen, Abigail thought, but then she had been no better off underground, where machines had kept everyone alive. And these people were obviously no worse off for it than she and her family had been.

She and her Scav friends had been given a rowdy standing ovation when they had walked into the run down restaurant the night before. Kyle and Sharn had lapped it up, while Chopper had simply found them a table and ignored the back slappings the others had got, though she had accepted her share of free drinks. Abigail had only taken one, but one had been enough. Whatever it was they distilled there, it was enough to make her cough after only a moderate sip. Apparently the acidic tasting beer was more the men's drink, and the 'sippin' liquor' was the women's, unless it was gulped back in full glasses at a time. That looked lethal by the faces they pulled after each glass, but taken in small sips it felt more like a harsh, perfumed whiskey.

Abigail had been stunned by the vibrant atmosphere. The roof of the place was full of holes where the sheets of corrugated metal did not match up, and the tables were little more than wagon wheels mounted on metal poles driven through the floor and into the dry earth. Not a single chair in the place matched any other.

And none of the customers cared one bit about any of it. They drank and sang and gambled (Kyle actually stayed back to take many a man's bottle caps at cards that night), wearing everything from full body armour to strings and scraps that Abigail would barely have called swimwear, and aside from a 'good natured' bar fight everyone got on with a smile on their faces and slabs of meat on their plates.

And Chopper had been right. Abigail was now the toast of the town, and had apparently taken down three raiders with her bare hands according to a couple of the less sober men. Questions came from all sides, everything from her three sizes to what superpowers her jumpsuit gave her, and Kyle and Sharn had needed to clear the air around them with force as well was harsh language before they were allowed to eat in peace. Though not before Abigail had received five new offers of a good time, and two marriage proposals.

It was, all in all, a very strange place. But at least she had enjoyed the food, and her body had accepted it with no qualms at all. If anything it had helped, because as of the new morning she was no longer losing blood in the embarrassing way she had been. That had pleased Chopper, even if it was only because Abigail would no longer be consuming her liquid medicines at such an alarming rate, but Sharn had assured her that Chopper was actually pleased for her health as well as her own supplies. If the rough woman took pleasure in anything, it was in seeing people recover, and the nastier their situation the happier Chopper was after they were back to proper health.

And if it had been purely self congratulation she probably wouldn't have tagged along with them as Sharn showed Abigail around.

"Their shit's also the best fertilizer around if you can break up the dirt enough to mix it in," Chopper said, adding to Sharn's list of the boons of brahmin. "But as you can tell, it's not worth the stink unless you want to get Farmer's High off it."

"What do you mean?" Abigail could smell the large, glutinous pats surely enough. They were foul, but the rest of the explanation eluded her.

Sharn clarified, "Some farmers say that if you work around brahmin crap enough it's almost like a hit of mentats and buffout combined, only with more colours!"

"Except that most junkies desperate enough to try it just make themselves sick, because of the stink," Chopper added with a chuckle.

"Mentats? More drugs like that psycho injection?" Abigail asked, being bombarded with yet more new names.

"Eh, they're tablets. The mentats aren't so bad," Chopper said with a shrug. "They're good for the brain. Until they wear off that is, then you get a four day hangover from hell and your head turns to mush. But they're the only chems I've ever touched. Buffout's nasty, like psycho."

"Stop being morbid Chopper," Sharn said, taking Abigail's shoulders and leading her away. "Come on, the market's this way. That's what this town is -really- good for."

As they walked around Abigail would have agreed if she had known the first thing about what she was looking at. The stalls and shops full of clothing held her interest, but only until she realised that she was looking at things that held very little practical value for her. Nothing was handed out as needed, and at the same time nothing was priced. The air was thick with the sound of bartering, which had never been a part of vault life. She had swapped things between her friends, but that had been friendly trade, in which you either got back what you gave out, or gave it away because it was no longer of any use and didn't expect compensation.

Bartering in the shops was far more mercenary and cutthroat. Some people were even arguing over the worth of a jacket or boot right down to a single bottle cap. Worse, Abigail did not know what she wanted or needed. The clothing that attracted her had none of the protective qualities that Chopper and Sharn advised, and yet the ones that did were stiff, bulky and uncomfortable. And that was not even armour, as she had seen some people wearing just to go about town in.

She didn't even want to think about the weapons stalls that Sharn tried to show her. One of them had the same gun that Kyle had received as his loot, and had said would not have given her problems like the shotgun had, but it was a fat, ugly thing with a black, ridged dome where the hammer was on other smaller guns. It looked like the head of a monster from the movies, and Abigail took a disliking to it almost immediately.

While her lack of enthusiasm seemed to dishearten Sharn and annoy Chopper it didn't matter anyway, since she had brought none of her loot along with her to trade. She just wanted to see the town, and could worry about things like guns and clothing later, once she knew more about what she would need. She was really there to see the other inhabitants of the town, and watch them as -they- shopped. It was intriguing, and she fully intended to learn from them. The fact that watching them helped to enthuse her towards the idea of barter-shopping was a bonus. Once she had begun to understand how it worked it seemed like it could be more than just a chore. It was a personal challenge to find what you want, and then persuade the owner to part with it for your own least wanted junk.

It also looked like her unwanted fame might also end up working in her favour when she did come to sell her blood stained spoils. The shopkeepers and stall owners all made a point of saying how they would give her a special price if she bought their wares or even sold her very visible jumpsuit to them, and afterwards Sharn let her know which ones were genuinely discounting their stuff, and by how much. One of the clothing vendors, while lacking in protective garments, was all but offering to give some of her things away, presumably for the exposure her shop would get from it, and one of the cart stalls was generous to say the least when it came to the scraps of ammunition in his piles of knickknacks.

It wasn't just the shopkeepers either. Just by wearing her blue and yellow suit she was turning heads, and more than a few shook her hands or tried to recruit her for some familial problem or other they had before Chopper and Sharn could send them on their way. They weren't for hire right then. Only one passer by was allowed to hold them up as they wandered the streets, but he drew Abigail's attention just as she drew his.

He was a ghoul.

The awkward and unsightly brahmin had warranted her pity, but with this old man she did not know whether to scream or be struck mute. Thankfully it was the latter, because if he really was just an old man she did not want to offend him, but her companions had been right. He was nothing but a corpse, and a grisly one at that.

At first his slow, shuffling limp had drawn her attention, but once she had singled him from the rest of the crowd she could see that his unstable gait was the least if his problems. His skin was dark, looking rubbery and greening at the edges, and beyond those edges his bare muscles showed through as brown-red lumps. In places they too were missing, making him loll from side to side as he walked, and she dreaded to think which organ it was that could be seen between that small patch of exposed rib and his old jacket.

Worst though were the patches of wiry black afro that peeked out from under his lumpy head-scarf, and the right eye that stared out from its bare socket, with no eyelids to hide the bone. He was a terrible sight, and yet he smiled crookedly, showing his only five teeth, as if he was having a whale of a time simply having run into her.

"Looky there! Hold up, Vault Girl! Let me get a look at ya'!"

Abigail couldn't have moved even if she wanted to. She had seen zombie movies before, and didn't like them. This was worse, but at least Sharn whispered her support to her as the old ghoul staggered over to them. "It's okay, he's just a ghoul. Just an old guy who caught too many rads."

Abigail nodded, and tried very hard to say hello. She even managed it, to the old ghoul's amusement.

"Heh, lookit ya'. Guess you never seen a ghoul before, huh? Well don' worry, I won't bite ya'. Ain' got the teeth for it anyhow, ha ha!"

Abigail had to concede that, as he laughed, his teeth really didn't look too secure in his red-green gums.

"Um, nice to meet you," Abigail managed, and the ghoul's smile turned more gentle.

"Yup, 'sa real pleasure to meet ya' too, girl. I know what you vault types are like when you just come up, seen enough of 'em, and you done good to take a swing at that Diamond. Ain't many folk'd take that risk without a gun and some gunnin' skills. Sure as Hell old Chris'chun wouldn't have."

He chuckled, "Tha's me by the way, Chris'chun. Eh, anyhow, I won' keep you from ya' business. Jus' wanted to say that we appreciate what ya' did. An' it makes my day to see another smooth skin girl as pretty as our Erin. I guess tha's what stayin' behind closed doors gets ya'! Much better than us outdoor types, eh? Ha ha!"

Abigail could only laugh weakly in reply. "Ah, thank you. But, it doesn't look.. so bad."

She only realised what a stupid thing it must have been to say as she had said it, but Christian just laughed it off. "Heh heh, nice of ya' to say so, girl, but I got eyes." He tapped the bone of his right eye socket to make the point. "But nice of ya' to say. We got used to it, so don't let it worry y'a none. I'll be there cheering for you against that pigrat same as all the others, s'afternoon, so you get ready good. I'll be puttin' my caps on ya'!"

Suddenly Chopper didn't seem as amused by the conversation, and Abigail instinctively denied whatever it was she was supposed to have done. "Uh, what does that mean? The pigrat is what gave you those scars, isn't it Chopper?"

Christian blinked with his one lidded eye. "Eh? You been signed up for the games s'afternoon, girlie. They say you're takin' on the pigrat pen. Ya' didn' do it ya'self?"

"She'd better not have done!" Chopper growled, but it was obvious that she also believed Abigail was innocent. However, the anger on her face still worried Abigail.

"Really, Chopper, I didn't. What am I supposed to do, fight? You said pigrats were dangerous!"

"Tha's the point," the old ghoul confirmed. "Wouldn' be much sport if they weren'. Damn, I know ya'll do good, girl, ya've got the guts for it, but tha's no good not to tell ya' 'bout it."

Then Sharn's furious voice drew their attention. "Rathley, that bastard!! I thought he was joking!"

Christian let out a sigh, and through his gruesome features he gave Abigail a sympathetic look. "Oh, 'im again, huh?"

--

When they got back Sharn didn't give Rathley a moment even to turn around to greet them before she decked him. It was unsporting perhaps, but Abigail had been more than ready to do it herself, had her wild haired friend not beaten her to it. She caught him square in the left temple, and despite his muscular frame he hit the floor easily, and with a very satisfying thud.

Watching, Abigail could see that Chopper was simply watching with a look of derision, while Kyle just stared in surprise. The sudden attack must have caught them both off guard as they had been tallying their ammunition. "What's he done this time?" Kyle asked, as if enquiring about the perpetually dry weather.

"He wasn't kidding about the rat fight," Sharn said, glaring down at the man. She lashed out a foot towards his stomach, but Rathley was the better brawler, and he caught her coming kick and pulled her clean off her feet. Wham!

"Why would I joke?" Rathley growled as he staggered upright and slapped his temple with the palm of his hand to clear his head.

"Well, if you were serious you might have let her know," Kyle replied, just peering over the bed to see if Sharn was okay as she cringed on the floor, now holding her own head. "I get the feeling they didn't go in for blood sports in her vault."

"No, we didn't," Abigail confirmed, giving Rathley a glare of her own. "And I'm not going to fight animals just so you can have a laugh, or bet on how many limbs I'll lose! I won't do it."

Unfortunately Chopper had bad news for her, which was why her expression remained so dark. "You won't have a choice. If today's games have been written up then they'll make you do it. They know you, and if you don't live up to his promise, they'll lynch you for it."

Rathley shrugged and sat back on the bed, a safe distance from Sharn in case she decided to go for him again. The girl wasn't a danger to him, but he didn't want the fight on a wooden floor. "What's the fucking problem? Of course I wasn't gonna tell you Sugar," he said to Chopper, "you've got a serious stick up your ass about the rats. And you saw what Abby did to that Diamond. She could spit a pigrat just as easy. I'll be betting five hundred caps on it!"

"I've never even seen a pigrat, never mind fought one!" Abby argued back. "I saw what they did to Chopper's legs!"

"And -she- couldn't have hit a brahmin with your burrow nut, never mind braining a raider at, what, twenty five, thirty feet?

"Listen Sugar." Abigail was amazed that he was being so serious about this. "You want a break out here? This is it. These townies already think they know you. They think you're a natural talent, straight out of the vault and already cleanin' up the town, Merc style. You come in with people like me and Chopper, the bad crowd, and suddenly we're all doin' the hero routine right behind you. It doesn't matter that you're a know-nothin' with us keepin' you out of the shit. They're gonna to expect you to keep it up, keep provin' how goddamn fuckin' awesome you are, and that's exactly what you're gonna do."

Abigail was moved by his little speech, but at the same time it was totally impractical. "How?! I'm no hero! I could have died out there. I've never fought properly before in my life!"

"Bah," Rathley spat, "there's no thing as fightin' properly, Sugar. If you don't take every chance you get then you get shot! If you gotta sneak up on the bastard with a shotgun to kill him, then you do it. And you did, if you're as honest as you say you are. No-one kills the deathclaw, but you did, right? Blew its fuckin' head off!!"

"Screw your fairy stories you old bastard," Sharn spat, but she didn't do anything more than stand and glower.

"And she doesn't get a shotgun this time," Chopper warned. "Abby, you haven't used a spear before, have you?"

Abigail shook her head. "No."

"Then it's time to learn. Kyle, get moving. You've got until the match to teach her."

Kyle smiled and clapped his hands together. "Oh, it'll be my pleasure!" And by the sound if it, he intended to enjoy it a lot more than anyone should have. Abigail could only worry what he intended to do to her.

"Here's the thing Sugar," Rathley said to her as Kyle and Sharn found his armour, and Chopper waited for them impatiently, "old Butcher there is right." He poked a thumb towards Chopper. "You don't wanna be takin' no risks. If you're gonna try and play up to this town, you do it on your terms. They love the games, so you're goin' in for one that you can't lose. No way you're gonna go down to a pigrat, as long as you fight like you mean it."

He gave her an unpleasant, cruel grin. "A new face like yours, and comic book pretty to boot? It won't matter if you can't even handle a gun. You come out of the rat pen like a champion, and you'll fool them all!"

--

When the time came Abigail was left with no illusions about how easy such a thing might be. She would only be allowed a spear in the rat pen - that was part of the sport - and even after three and a half hours of practice with Kyle she was still an absolute amateur. She knew it had been that long; she had been timing it on her PipBoy.

The weapon was almost as tall as she was, and no matter which way she swung or stabbed with it the haft of the thing was always in the way. She just couldn't aim right with the stick up against her chest, or swinging outwards and pointing the jagged metal tip in an awkward direction just before it hit the ground.

Put bluntly, as Kyle had done, she sucked. But any weapon was better than none, and it would let her attack the oversized rat from a moderately safe distance.

Then again, as Chopper told her time and again, pigrats weren't just rats. Hell, even the normal rats weren't just rats compared to the dirty little rodents Abigail had read of, and even seen on educational holotape vids. In the wasteland rats were a very dangerous pest in numbers.

And no matter how stupidly they were named, pigrats could be killers if you didn't pay attention for that one vital moment. As Kyle had tutored her, attacking the creature should be her second priority. Her first was to make sure that she never gave it the chance to get past the reach of her spearhead. Those four feet would be the only thing keeping the pigrat's claws from her skin.

To say that Abigail was nervous, standing in the large animal pen and surrounded by forty rowdy townies, would have been an understatement. Above the din of the impatient audience the bookie was shouting out the odds he was getting, and drumming up the last bets he could before the rat was brought it. It didn't do her nerves any good to hear that the betting was split almost down the middle. She was the favoured fighter, but not by much. She caught an argument between two betting men over who to place their shared winnings on.

"She's got nothing on, and she a vault dweller! I bet she'll be too scared to throw in the towel once it's cut her up a bit. She's mincemeat!"

"Dude, she caved in a Diamond's head 'till there was nothin' left! And look at her, she's standin' there in those fuckin' shades, cool as ice. She'll brain the thing in under a minute!"

Abigail wished she had his optimism, but she was playing the part as best she could. She was disliking Rathley more by the day, this was just another reason to continue, but if she was stuck in the fight then he did have a point. She had to show these people she wasn't someone to be trifled with. Even with clear skin and a blue jumpsuit, she was one of them. Or rather, she needed to be what they -wanted- to be. After this she would be seen as more than just a curiosity or a novelty: it was a step towards being accepted as one of them.

She looked towards her companions at the corner of the pen. Kyle and Sharn were both cheering with the crowd, and making sure she knew who they were rooting for. Sharn's smile was lighting up her face again, and despite how creepy she found Kyle's demeanour she was grateful for the same smile from him. He had worked her hard with the spear, but he had been a patient teacher. He had wanted her to enjoy learning the art that he made look so easy, to the point that she would have practiced for another two hours if there had still been the time.

Rathley just smiled, looking very pleased with himself. As he had said, he had bet a full five hundred caps on her to win; one of the largest bets of the game. The other big spenders had been betting the other way, but that just gave the 'normal' folk, as Abigail guessed they were, hope that she might live up to her reputation so far, and win them some caps into the bargain.

Chopper on the other hand; her face was unreadable. It was the same mask she had worn early on, back in the desert. A sort of caustic, mildly amused curiosity, but one that said she was only there humouring her because there was nothing else around to alleviate her boredom. She might just as well have been studying someone's entrails, for all Abigail could tell of her expression. She could have at least looked anxious about the whole thing, Abigail thought. Or annoyed, that would have been good enough.

In the end her attention was brought back to the dirt floor of the pen when the bookie stopped his calls for bets, and traded his cloth cap for a cowboy hat. He was also the announcer.

"ARE YOU READY RAT-FANS?"

The forty strong crowd whooped in reply. They were very ready. The announcer strode in a leisurely fashion to the gate at the far end of the pen, thirty feet away.

"Today we have some surprise rat bait!" he said, swinging his arms around in theatrical fashion, playing up his meagre role. "In the blue and very skin tight corner we have Abby Iseley. She's fresh from the mythic Vault 42, deep in the heart of the Cobalt Line!"

Evidently Rathley had been spilling his guts in setting up the fight. The crowd went very quiet. This was all news to them, and it only served to make Abigail seem more mysterious.

"She's survived the radiation, the burning desert, and rumour has it she even survived the dreaded Deathclaw! If that's true, it's no wonder the Diamonds never stood a chance. But!" he paused for dramatic effect, bowing low, "luck and chems might have kept her alive out there, and one lucky shot does not make a hero! Today we will test what this girl is made of... with this!"

His arms went up, to finally show off the two burley men standing behind him, each with a pole in hand. And at the end of the poles, two taut nooses around its body, was the pigrat.

"Our new rat, guys, gals and ghouls! We had to lock her away from the others because she'd already killed the other new rat we had been saving for this very fight! Bruce caught this one making for our brahmin two nights ago, didn't you Bruce, and I knew we just had to show you all just what a bitch she is!"

He motioned to the pen wall, and the two men lowered the animal in. "So that's enough yap! Abby, better get that spear up, because here she comes!"

Abigail did take the spear in both hands and watched nervously as the two nooses were pulled from around the animal, and it got to its fat feet with a high-pitched, grating snarl. If she was honest, had she not seen what this kind of creature had done to Chopper she would have wondered what all the fuss was about. There certainly more 'pig' than 'rat' about it. It was about that size, she thought, roughly equivalent to an average dog, and it was pink and hairless from the tip of its pointed snout to its stubby little tail. Its skin looked like it should have burnt under the high sun, but at the same time it looked tough and leathery.

And it was -fat-. It was fast on its feet, Abigail could see that as it scampered around in all directions looking for the nooses that had held it, but it was far wider in the belly than it was at the shoulders, and its legs had a crooked, almost waddling gait. It would have looked funny, if not for the two inch nails that sprouted from its toes, and the huge rat incisors that appeared every time it opened its mouth. And despite its appearance it looked mean. Its black, beady little eyes were very expressive, and as it calmed down and began to survey its new surroundings they locked onto Abigail with a look that really did speak of murder. It was angry, and it was going to do something about it.

With everyone else safe behind two sheets of wire netting and a wall of wood it made Abigail its only target, and it lived up to Chopper's warnings. Despite its waddling bulk it was fast, and had crossed the pen in seconds, giving off its grating squeak all the way. Abigail did as she had been taught, and jabbed the spear not at the creature but at its path, and at the same time she danced to the side. The pigrat tried to run around the spear, but found her missing, and the spearhead drew across the dirt in front if it, warding it backwards. Abigail carefully stepped away, keeping the distance between them, but making sure that the pigrat was focusing on trying to move around the weapon, and not on getting to where she was going to be next time.

That, she found, was her greatest advantage. She didn't have a second to think about attacking, but she was even faster on her feet than the pigrat, and a damn sight more agile. When it did eventually find a hole in her weak defences she used the spear as leverage and her feet left the ground, making a huge arc of sand in the air as she flipped to land behind the animal. Then, as the pigrat turned, she dragged the spear back to herself, raking the jagged edge of the blade across it. The hairless rat screamed, and she drew blood, but despite the cheering of the crowd it was clear that she had done almost nothing to actually injure the thing. The cuts were just superficial, and only served to anger the animal.

As the fight wore on Abigail found her hands sweating. The longer it lasted the clearer it became that she was not an able fighter, while the pigrat never slowed once in its attack. The day was hot, like every day on the surface, and Abigail would not be able to dance around for hours on end, while she guessed that the rat would have no trouble. She remembered what those two gamblers had said, she could always give up, but she wasn't ready to do that. If Rathley was going to make life difficult for her, she was damn well going to make the best of it. But how to attack the thing without letting it get close? It could cross the four feet between them in the time it would take her to pull back for a single thrust. She could not afford to have her legs gouged open by those claws.

And then she slipped. She thrust wide, and the pigrat took advantage of the gap to rush around her blade and right up to her. She pulled her leg away from its swinging claws in a flash, but the pigrat just hopped from one front paw to the other, never even needed to move its rear. Its claws found her leather boot rather than her shin, the only remotely protective clothing she was allowed, but those two inch claws pierced right into it, digging into the leather and then the skin below.

Abigail screamed, panicking now that the animal was right on top of her, and she had no way to defend herself. She staggered, pulling her feet in line to keep her from falling altogether, but that gave the pigrat another swipe at her. This time she jumped back bodily, dragging her feet along the ground, but those claws still found the exposed blue of her jumpsuit, and cut into her right leg again. This time the gash was deeper than the puncture beneath her boot, and it really made her scream. She fled across the pen, her limp countered by her natural speed, but she -was- tiring, and her athletic skills had obviously dulled since leaving the vault and becoming an invalid.

Somewhere in the background the crowd was getting louder, and the announcer was saying something about her dwindling chances, but she only caught it as an indistinct blur of sound. The pigrat was in hot pursuit across the pen, and in a focused move of retaliation she lunged at it with full force, wanting to pay it back for that cheap shot against her. She was right on target, and the rat was just the right distance, until at the end of the thrust the haft of the spear just couldn't get any closer in to maintain its aim. Her arm was too close to her chest again, and it pushed the point of the spear aside. And she was attacking with too much bodily force to compensate for her weakened muscles. The spear crossed the pigrat's path, blocking it, but it stuck into the ground hand, and for a moment Abigail could feel the wood bending in her hands.

It gave a loud creak, Abigail unable to pull back her weight fast enough, and shattered.

The wood split apart messily, sending splinters down onto the rat that now ran around the falling spearhead towards Abigail's feet again. Only her instinct as an acrobat saved her from another mauling, as she quickly threw the broken pole aside and turned her forward fall into a summersault. She tumbled twice, head over heels over head, crying out each time her bleeding leg hit the ground, until she was once again a decent distance from the rat. The crowd was howling again, both in astonishment and at seeing such a good chance for blood spoiled.

Abigail whipped around to see the pigrat turning back to face her, unconcerned about the weapon it scampered over. Without that spear Abigail knew she had no chance, and while even more adrenaline was pumped into her she still had the presence of mind to realise what she had to do. Limping as little as possible she tried to stay three steps away from the pigrat at all times, and circled around the pen, trying to reach the announcer so that she could forfeit the game.

But as she did so, pausing a moment by the wall, a throaty voice caught her from the audience as she passed by that side of the pen. A rotten looking hand joined those that slapped her on the shoulders as she passed. The other voices she ignored as they urged her on, they just wanted the excitement now that the stakes had been raised after breaking her weapon, but she actually let that voice distract her for a moment.

Christian the ghoul gave her his grisly looking smile. "Ya' can do it, can't ya, girlie? I'm reconin' ya got more'n that to ya!"

Abigail let that encouragement give her confidence, at least enough to dull the pain in her bleeding leg. The squeal of the pigrat drew her attention back to the fight, but that surge of bravery took her away from the edge of the ring. She cursed her sudden bravado a second later when she realised that she was running right for the bulky animal with no plan formed, but with nothing else to do she kicked the dry earth up and into the pigrat's face with her good leg. The animal squealed again, blinded for the moment, and that allowed Abigail a clean run past it. She stooped, picking up the upper half of the spear, and the crowd cheered as she readied it like a short sword. There was only a foot or so of haft remaining, an uneven foot at that, and another foot of jagged metal, but it was better than nothing.

She stooped low when the obese rat, its eyes watering, ran at her again, and swung the weapon to ward it off and keep it at a distance. However, she was out of ideas after that. She certainly couldn't lunge forward without letting the pigrat have a swipe of its own, and the jagged edge of the blade was made to stick in the flesh after piercing it, so even when she hit the rat's snout it only drew a small scratch across its face.

But the crowd wasn't idle either. This had become a risky fight, and they were loving it. And they wanted more of the show Abigail had already given. To begin with it had just been the odd call, drowned out by the rest of their noise, but now a full third of them were chanting in unison. "Jump it! - Jump it! - Jump it!"

Abigail had ignored it with the rest of their racket. What good would it do her? But now, with such a meagre weapon, it would at least put some more distance between her and the vicious, snapping animal as it backed her towards the side of the pen. And, she realised, this broken weapon was far more use to her than any proper spear. As soon as the pigrat looked like it would back up a step to make another swipe at her she took a step back herself, and leapt. Nothing nearly so acrobatic this time, she had no pole to push from, but she cleared the pigrat's claws easily and landed at a good speed, dancing further away as she turned.

The pigrat was doing the same, but as it began to run she had more than enough time to ready her attack. The spearhead, she had realised in a flash of the most obvious inspiration, would make a far better wall dart than the burrow nut ever could have. The pigrat was a moving target, but running straight at her it might as well have been lying there sound asleep for all the difference it would make. She drew back, and hurled the half-spear with every bit of strength she had left. With her practise at nailing a bulls eye from fifty feet, the fat pink beast at twenty was no challenge.

The animal tried to turn away, but it could only pull its head aside in time, leaving the spearhead to jam itself into the pigrat's neck, just in front of its shoulder. From that angle it simply pierced down into its body from the front. Abigail had no idea how much damage that had caused, but it seemed to be enough. The pigrat screamed with its grating squeal, and tried to back away from the weapon embedded in its shoulder, but it just dragged the metal with it. The first jagged notch had been buried in its flesh, so it would not be able to remove the thing unless someone pinned the pigrat down and tore it out, and who knew what more damage that would do?

The pigrat seemed to be doing enough just trying to wrest it out with its claws, but eventually it gave up, content to back away into a corner of the pen and whimper as it bled out onto the sand.

Abigail stood panting as the crowd cheered around her, and eventually she remembered to stand up straight, and she raised her hands in victory. The crowd just got louder at that. She had made a meal of the fight, but it had entertained them more than most.

"It's true folks!" The announcer called out. "Miss Iseley, might not be the best rat killer, but she's the real thing! Are you going to finish the bitch-pig off Abby?!"

Abigail looked over to the others at the corner of the pen. Rathley and Sharn were yelling a resounding "Yes!", while Kyle just shrugged. And Chopper was finally giving her that lop sided grin again, and just waved it off, as if to say, "Just forget about it."

Abigail ignored the pigrat, which suddenly looked like a very pitiful waste of blubber, and walked to the gate, trying to hide her limp. She caught the announcer's attention. "The ghoul there, Christian." She pointed to the zombie-man, and flashed him a victory sign. "Let him take it. If they're that fat, I guess you can get a decent amount of meat off them. Make sure he gets it, dead or alive, his choice."

The announcer looked to the ghoul, then to her again. "Eh, whatever." He took her hand and raised it. "Abby Iseley, guys, gals and ghouls!"

Abigail accepted the adulation eagerly. She had earned it with her blood, quite literally. She was also liking the tired rush after the fight, and those moments when the adrenaline had made the fight into a game. True, she had a badly cut leg, and it was starting to throb very painfully while it slowly coloured her jumpsuit leg purple, but the fear and the pain had been part of the rush. She didn't want to do it again in a hurry, but now that it was done she allowed herself to enjoy it. After the pigrat had taught her such a painful lesson she was happy to consider getting rid of such nasty creatures as a benefit, sport or not.

Once Abigail was let free she limped back to her companions, happy to ignore the noisy killing of the pigrat behind her. She wasn't quite ready to do that kind of thing just yet, but if Christian wanted it dead right then and there then that was up to him. She hoped the ghoul would either be able to get some good meals out of it, or otherwise sell it if pigrat wasn't worth eating. He had certainly thanked her effusively enough, so much so that she was worried that his bad eye might have ended up leaving its socket!

When she did get to see the others again she was in for a surprise, as they were not waiting for her at all. Instead Chopper was once again facing off with the town's mayor, and all four of them were having a discussion that Rathley, Kyle and Sharn were obviously enjoying quite a lot. Abigail looked behind them to see that Erin was once again in attendance, and staring at Chopper with a wavering ort of reproach, but this time she herself did not seem to be the topic of conversation. She was there because her father was.

"Regardless," the Mayor said once Abigail was close enough to hear, "I will put it to her personally, unless you are her -owner-."

Chopper cocked that eyebrow at the stress he placed on the word. "She's not a slave, but then again you might say we are her chaperones for the time being. Like dear Erin, she does need some coddling."

The mayor obviously didn't like his daughter's name being brought into the discussion. "Then I pity her if you really are going to treat that wound of hers, Butcher. Remember," he said seriously, "I'm not making this offer because I -want- to. I would rather you and that bastard," he nodded towards Rathley, "found some small cave in the desert to dry out in, so don't expect me to sweeten it any more."

He turned to Abigail. "If she wants to fix you up, fine, but I'm holding a meeting at the police building tonight, and I suggest you come along. If you're the kind of person people are making out, and after your assistance before, you might want to hear what we have to offer."

With that he turned and left, his daughter following behind him a moment later. Abigail could have sworn that she paused only to see if Chopper would look her way again. Rather sadly, she didn't.

"What was that?" Abigail asked, watching as the annoyed man and his pretty, well dressed daughter walked away.

"Blood money," Chopper replied. "Not your kind of thing I'd guess."

Kyle had a different take on it. "It's a good deal, Chopper. Especially for you two." He looked both at her and Rathley.

"Hell yeah," Rathley agreed. "I'm there already. You saps can sit back here if you like, but that sounds good to me."

Chopper just shrugged, changing the subject. "Feel free. Abby, come on, I'll get that leg sewn up."

Sharn was more open in her appreciation for her efforts. "That was such a great fight, Abby-girl! Screw the spears, we've got to find that shop with those cheap knives again!"

Abigail remembered the ones. They were just bare metal, and the wooden handles had been burnt off, leaving nothing but a rectangle of metal at the base of each.

Sharn grinned at the idea, "I bet they'd be great for throwing!"

--

To be continued...

--

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2008


	5. Of Blades and Bullets

After the Vault: Chapter 05

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

Author's Note: As of posting this chapter, a revised version of Chapter 01 has also been put up to fix a load of spelling errors and a minor continuity conflict. Nothing big, enough to be worth changing for any new readers, or the more eagle-eyed of you.

--

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 05

Of Blades and Bullets.

"Okay, get that suit off again and lie down."

Abigail looked at Chopper with a sense of reproach from her seat on their bed, but did as she was told. She was getting tired of constantly disrobing for the woman, even if it always seemed to be for her own good. The pain in her leg wasn't making her any more rational either, and she was beginning to think that finding some more clothes of her own would be worthwhile, if only so she wouldn't have to strip to her knickers every time she grazed her knees.

Then again, the Pigrat had done more than graze her. Removing her boot had been bad enough, but she winced and whimpered as she peeled her jumpsuit from her right leg. The blood still flowed slowly from the gash in her shin, and it had begun to dry, making the cloth stick to her tender skin.

Chopper was back with her medical tin before she was finished. "Come on, lie down. That cut isn't going to sew itself up."

Abigail swallowed hard, looking at the needle and thread in Chopper's hands. Knowing Chopper, this was going to hurt. "Can't we just use a stimpak or two?"

"No need," Chopper replied, "unless you want it numbed that badly." Then, as Abigail lay down, Chopper took a closer look at her two wounds, testing them with her fingers.

"Actually, your foot has stopped bleeding already. The rat must have missed anything important. Try wiggling your toes."

Abigail did. It hurt, but she was glad to look down at herself and see that all five digits were working.

Chopper sighed, and pulled one of her hypodermics from the tin. "I'm guessing it will be too much to ask you not to go running after Sia at the market?"

Abigail decided to be brave and nodded. "If it means I don't need a gun, I want to find those knives again. She said she would make sure no-one bought them, in case anyone heard us talking at the rat pen and got there before us. I don't want to make her wait for nothing."

"Fine."

As usual Chopper was not too gentle with the needle, and Abigail hissed as it sunk into her flesh.

"This isn't free," Chopper said as she emptied the serum into Abigail's foot, "but it'll stop the wound opening again, and after setting that crap up, Rathley can pay. He won enough off that fight."

Abigail grimaced as she saw a little of the meds seep out from the wound below the needle. "You didn't bet?"

Chopper's face remained impassive. "I don't like rat fights." Then she gave her that lop sided smile. "Couldn't you tell?"

"Of course I could. You were angry at me as well."

Chopper nodded. "You appear to be growing an aptitude for causing trouble. Now, hold still, this is going to sting."

Abigail closed her eyes and turned her head away as Chopper threaded her needle, and scraped her chair further up beside the bed, to sit over Abigail's shins.

"Just do it. Ah, wait, I have Stimpaks too..."

Then she felt the sharp sting in her cut, and gritted her teeth. "Damn it, Chopper!"

"You should have said so earlier. After the shape you were in, back in the desert, this shouldn't be too much to handle. Anyway," she went on, going back to her topic, "as I said, trouble. Just like you plan on heading over to the police barracks with the others after sundown."

"Well maybe I wouldn't feel the need if one of you would just tell me what that fight you were having was about! Rathley is already as good as signed up to whatever this is, but you don't seem to care, and Sharn won't tell me either. Is she afraid to or something!? I'm not going to break. And why would the mayor be making you and Rathley a 'good deal' when he looks like he hates you so much? OW!!"

Chopper tugged on the thread, and started the second stitch. "What part of 'blood money' didn't you understand? The mayor wants to find out the whole story behind Jack's attack, the Diamond you brained before Sia shot him, and what he implied when he took Erin hostage. So, he's sending some hired guns out to the Diamond Ring, to 'talk'."

"But they aren't going to be too interested in talking now that we've killed some of them?"

Chopper shrugged, "Who can tell? Raiders aren't usually firing on all cylinders. Even if you just go to trade with them, you've got to be ready to pull a gun at any time. Something like this? In their own fort? It could get very bloody. Still interested?"

Abigail shook her head, and winced again as Chopper started the last stitch. "No. You're right. I just don't know what else I'm supposed to be doing. It seemed like a natural direction though, after fighting that pigrat. And you said before, that I'm supposed to be the strong type, but then you get angry about the pigrat and this."

Chopper paused in her sewing, and glanced up at Abigail's conflicted face. "So go along. Hear the man out, and decide for yourself. I think you're better than the townie weaklings, but you certainly don't sound like it. You say you want a quiet life, and then you come out of the pigrat pen smiling, bloody and high on the thrill of the fight. You were just waiting for Sharn and her, 'good job Abby, that was cool!' You were practically hanging from her tongue when she finally said it. And you can't fight worth shit, but you've got guts enough pick on a raider mob?"

Chopper pulled hard on the thread again and Abigail, already growing teary eyed from the scolding, finally let out a pained sob. "Why do you have to be like this!? I finally do something right, like you crazy people do, and all you can do is tell me off! What do I have to do to make you happy?! I -don't- want to be like you, but you said I haven't got a choice!

"And you're right, I got a thrill out of that fight! I won! I beat the pigrat and I deserved that applause, because I fought hard for it! I -don't- want to be a killer, but I'm -not- going to lie down and die, and just because I don't want to be a murderer doesn't mean I'm going to be a victim for the rest of my life either!!"

Chopper stared at her as she ranted, and slit the thread in Abigail's leg with her scalpel without even needing to look. Then, as Abigail's vitriol faded, she stood up and reached out for her head. Abigail recoiled, suddenly scared that she had said too much and pushed Chopper over the edge, but before she could escape Chopper had grabbed the base of her pigtail and clenched the hair tight, making it pull in Abigail's scalp. She twisted the girl's suddenly frightened face up to meet her own hard eyes.

Abigail quivered in the woman's grasp. "W-wait, I didn't..."

"Shut up," Chopper breathed. "The more you talk, the worse you sound. You can do whatever the hell you like, and you're going to need that attitude around here, but you had better grow up and start making some fucking decisions of your own."

She pulled Abigail closer, until the girl could feel Chopper's ragged breath on her face. "Because if you don't then this place is going to start making them for you, and I'm not going to be holding your hand any more."

Then, just as suddenly as she had grabbed her, Chopper let Abigail go. "It's obvious that it won't make a difference anyway."

Abigail just stared after her as Chopper walked away, the doctor pulling her chair back to the broken down desk. Abigail found that her eyes were still leaking. "But... How can I d-decide, when I don't know where to start? Y-you know, but I can't satisfy you even when I give in, and try to be what you all say I should be."

"Get dressed," Chopper finally said, "and find Sia and your knives. That was your plan, so follow through. If you need help that badly, she'll look out for you."

Abigail swallowed and reached for her jumpsuit. The leg was still torn and bloody. Now it seemed that, contrary to her playful attitude the night before, Chopper was more than willing to pay back some of the dislike that Abigail had felt towards her. A day or two before Abigail would have been grateful for Chopper's silence, but now it worried her. Chopper had been an authority on the surface, more so than the others, and the last thing that Abigail needed was to be severing ties that could help her understand it.

But at the same time, Chopper was sounding like just as much of a broken record as Abigail guessed she herself must have been. The last thing that either of them needed right then was to keep repeating themselves, because neither of them was going to end up being what the other wanted. She pulled on her jumpsuit and limped downstairs to ask for some more water to wash the leg with before she went to meet Sharn. Even though it would probably leave a stain no matter how she scrubbed.

--

It was a good five hours later when Abigail, with food in her stomach and steel in her new pockets, made her appearance at the police house. She felt almost thirty pairs of overwhelming eyes turn and lock themselves onto her as she stood in the doorway, and behind her Sharn and Kyle might have been invisible to them.

"I think they like the new look, Abby-girl," Sharn whispered to her, grinning from ear to ear.

Whether they liked it was hard to tell, Abigail thought, but they noticed it more than she had expected. She still wore her vault jumpsuit, she couldn't have parted with that, but it was now hidden almost entirely beneath the leather jacket and trousers, both so black that they matched her shades perfectly. It was Diamond leather she was sure, though only because it was not the brown hide of Chopper's coat or Sharn's vest, but somewhere along the way the gold and jewellery had been cut out of it, taking with it the entire right sleeve of the jacket, and leaving the stained leg of her jumpsuit visible below the uneven cut of the right trouser leg.

Trading one set of Diamond leathers for another might have seemed pointless, but Abigail could wear the ones that were cleaned and free from the gaudy reminders of the man she had killed. What's more these fitted very well, so they must have been made for a very young man, or another smaller woman like herself. And with them had come two mismatched boots, paid for with Diamond's silver medallion. They had hunted far and wide but boots in Abigail's tiny size were few and far between. She had settled for the chunky camouflage green right and the more shapely black left in the end, but they would both serve her better than her vault shoes or the spare boots Sharn had lent her. Her plait also fell past her rear and swayed with her steps, finally free from the rear belt-loop that sat over her still sensitive scars, at her left hip.

But in the pocket of the jacket was what made the most difference to Abigail, though the onlookers could not see them. Inside the deep, clumsily stitched cloth sat her six knives, and her fingers rested on the cold rectangles of steel that passed for their handles. Three holes up each would give her all manner of grips to try, and while the blades themselves were only as long again as the handle, and only single sided, they were ground to a vicious edge. They both gave her confidence and made her wonder what she thought she was doing. She was armed now, and to her mind a person was only armed if they intended to use those arms.

Then again, she thought, as the three of them entered and took up a few more of the spare seats in the entrance hall, she did not doubt that she was the only one there without a gun on them. Some, like Rathley in his corner seat, left the stocks or hilts of their guns sticking from their clothing or bags, while a few more carried theirs openly. One man even sat on the floor, disassembling his squat, fat pistol and cleaning each part of it with a ratty looking toothbrush.

She idly wondered why Rathley hadn't saved them seats, before she realised that it was Rathley she was thinking about in the first place. She just sat, making the effort to look as though her shin did not still sting and ache.

After a short while one of the men stood up from the front row, and revealed himself to be the mayor. It was only unexpected because his daughter had, for once, not been with him.

"Alright, I guess that's all we're getting," he announced. "Thank you for coming. For those few who don't know, I am Gerald Golway, Corva's mayor. I also pay for and organise the policing in this town."

He waited a moment, in case anyone decided to crack wise.

"I -also- deal with any special security measures we need to hire in, and our good friend Diamond Jack apparently thought that it was worth his life to try and get my daughter away from here. Unfortunately he didn't say much more before our new favourite Scav decided to make herself famous."

His eyes, and many others, once again turned to look at Abigail. She swallowed hard, but tried not to look nervous.

"So we need to find out what sort of plan the Hearts have in mind,"

"More raiders," Kyle whispered to Abigail. "The ones Jack thought he had to 'protect' Erin from."

"... and how they expect to carry it out. The Diamonds know, assuming Jack didn't go renegade on his own, so we are going to walk over to the Diamond Ring and ask."

"That's their headquarters," Kyle told Abigail. "They're the only Raiders around here that don't move from camp to camp, so we know exactly where their leaders are."

"So why hasn't anyone ever stopped them. Or, you know, wiped them out?"

Kyle chuckled. "Because as far as raiders go, the Diamonds are the best equipped. They're mostly pretty dense, but they make up for it with firepower, and the Diamond Ring is a fortress compared to this place."

"What we need from you," Golway went on, "is muscle. I've already chosen our negotiator and the caravan. If you sign on, you'll be there to protect it both ways, and if the talks go bad you are to provide cover for our people, and get them and each other out."

"Fuck the terms," one large man shouted from the middle row. "What's the pay?"

Mayor Golway singled him out. "Five hundred caps or equivalent in ammunition, all up front."

Three men and one woman got to their feet and left the hall instantly, while the large heckler swore loudly. "Man, that's shit if you want us going up against the Ring!"

"He's right," Kyle noted to Abigail. "There's no way we could ever clear the place, so we wouldn't get much Diamond loot out of it if things went bad. Actually, I doubt we'd get any."

Golway nodded. "That's why it's all in advance. If it all goes to plan, you get 500 caps for a three day babysitting job. More than fair. If not, you have to get each other out. If you die, your things get shared out between the survivors. But only if you get each other back here, bodies and all."

He eyed the crowd. "No back stabbings, and no 'failed missions' for loot, because there will be spotters with you. Feel free to kill each other if you want, but we'll know what you've done. You will be put down for it. Any questions?"

Another man, old and scraggly, "What sort of caravan are we lookin' at here?"

"Two carts, one brahmin apiece. Assuming we get fifteen of you, that's four walkers at all times, plus room for water. You provide your own food and weapons, as standard."

"And the spotters? Are they armed?" the old man asked.

"Already hired, and they will have rifles. But they won't be assisting you, unless they want to take a few pot shots on their own to make your lives easier. You people are all the lookout you've got."

The old man sighed. "Right, right. Hey, you old bastard, are you in?"

From his front corner seat Rathley laughed, making himself heard at last. "You bet your ass I'm in, old man!"

That got a few people talking amongst themselves. But it also caused another four to leave. Abigail knew he was unpleasant, but was he really that well known? And that unpopular?

The mayor didn't seem too happy. "Anything else?"

Silence.

"Good. The caravan leaves from the front gates at eight AM. If you want to be paid, get there beforehand."

While everyone else either filed out or clumped together into groups to talk about the worth of the job, Abigail pulled back the left sleeve of her leather jacket to reveal her PipBoy, and she punched in the time for the alarm.

Behind her Sharn sighed. "So, what do you think? It's decent for Rathley and Chopper, but not so much for us."

Kyle shrugged. "It seems like the easiest thousand we've had in months."

"You don't think it will turn bad?"

Kyle shook his head. "Golway is smart, and as far as Mercs are concerned he's as well connected as anyone. I'll bet he's hired the best negotiator for miles."

"And anyway," he added, patting Abigail on the shoulder, "there's no obligation to fight. If the worst happens, we just have to cover each other's escape. It would be a good chance to train."

Abigail looked at him and nodded. "I thought you didn't like knives though."

"They won't beat a gun," he replied, shrugging again, "no penetration at all, but if that's what you want you might as well make sure you can make the most of them."

Sharn agreed. "He can't throw for the life of him, but I bet between us we could both help you out. If you even need it."

Abigail blushed at the compliment. "Thanks. Umm, lets go, shall we?"

They look around them to see that the hall was mostly empty now, and Rathley was waiting at the door with a smug smile on his face. Just behind him, outside, was Chopper.

"So," he said, enjoying her annoyed expression, "what do you think?"

Chopper just looked at Abigail, Kyle and Sharn. It wasn't hard to guess what their plans were. "If I'm going to be sitting around bored either way... When do we leave?"

--

They left at eight on the dot, just as Mayor Golway had said the evening before. Nine men and three women turned up besides themselves, including the ancient looking 'friend' of Rathley's and the tall, overweight heckler, who only just arrived in time to collect his bag of bullets before they left.

By that time Chopper had once again fallen asleep, sitting slumped against the water barrels with a large hat over her face.

"She had no intention of staying behind, did she?" Abigail asked. Her attention was split between the sleeping woman, the mass of Mercs and Scavs around them, and her PipBoy.

"She would have if she hadn't been the only one," Kyle said, kicked back next to her, with Sharn sitting on the edge of the cart by his shoulder. "She's not the combat type. Thinks it's counterproductive if she's just going to end up patching everyone up again anyway. But 'Sheriff Dad' won't let her practice in town, so she really would be sitting around doing nothing. A doctor's not much good if she's been banned from healing."

Abigail looked back at Chopper's sleeping form. "Really? Why, because she's rough?"

"Because a lot of people die on her table," Sharn explained. "She'll try and fix anything, given a chance, so if you're dying and you're desperate enough... Like those Black Widowmaker victims, or people with so much lead in them they could start a used ammo store. It gets her a bad rep, and the officials don't like it. The thing is," she finished, as if it was a secret, "she's a half-assed fixer-upper, but she's probably the best surgeon in the Mid Wastes."

Beside them several of the other Mercs laughed. "Heh, ya' think?" a well muscled and thickly bearded man asked. "If she's the only medic we've got, I want to be put out of my misery if I get shot up!"

A smaller man, sitting wrapped in a cloak on the open back of the cart, made a pondering noise as several others laughed. "Mnn, I'm sure you will find a few people happy to oblige, Jassic."

He rolled off the edge of the cart as the heavily bearded Jassic stuck out a boot to kick him that way. "Screw off, Lyster. Go piss yourself again."

Abigail tried to ignore their nasty banter and started pressing buttons on her PipBoy again.

"Say, what is that anyway, new girl?" one of Jassic's similarly built friends, Bason, asked. "You've been playin' with it long enough."

"It's a P.I.P. computer. Personal Information Processor," Abigail replied, tilting it towards the heavy set man before punching a few more buttons. "I'm plotting our journey on the GPS tracking system, since it still works."

Bason just stared. "And in English, hon?"

"She's making maps," Kyle translated, both for Bason and an equally bemused Sharn. "Does it show the location of your vault, Abby?"

Abigail nodded. "Yes. That was the first thing I looked for. But the journey plotter signal must have been messed up by the radiation. I can give you the direction from town, but not the distance or exact co-ordinates."

"Damn," Jassic said with a wide, crooked smile, "thought I might have been onto a mother load there. How much Rad-X was it to get there though? More'n healthy I'd heard."

Abigail decided to change the subject quickly, before these strange people got equally strange ideas into their heads about her vault. "What -I- want to know," she said, asserting some authority into her voice, "is why all the raiders are named after playing cards. Are there Clubs and Spades too?"

Kyle explained, while four men and two women looked at her like she had just asked what colour the sky was.

"It started off the other way around. When I was a kid there were four raider gangs around here. Picking caravans off by the Cobalt Line supply routes is easier than elsewhere, since people don't like getting too close, so it's less well defended. To keep people, and each other, guessing they used to pretend to belong to each other's gangs though, or they kept changing their names every few months.

"The only way people could tell who was who was by giving the gangs permanent names, which the raiders didn't know at the time. All the warnings were kept secret, using a deck of cards, so each gang was named after the suit that suited them!"

Sharn giggled at the pun, while Jassic and Bason guffawed, and one of the other women smiled.

"The Diamonds were the idiots who were easy to identify. Always the shiniest guns and slickest leathers. They played up to the name when the system got out, that's why the boss's son was called Jack."

Abigail swallowed, and hidden behind her shades her eyes widened in realisation. "We killed his son..."

"Yeah," a punkish looking woman in slender but shapeless green armour confirmed, from her seat opposite the spot Lyster had vacated. "He's the king, his woman is the queen, their boy was Jack, and their trained bitch is Ace. They love it."

"The Hearts are the other big gang these days. They stay on the move in lots of smaller camps and keep their numbers high with kidnapping and their whole sex and drugs thing. They're less rational than the Diamonds, since they're big into sleaze and backstabbing where outsiders are concerned, but they're smarter, and when they all get together it means something is going to go to hell.

"The Clubs used to be huge, but they got greedy and overconfident. It was a matter of pride that they could do anything the others could, but without guns. You put a load of club and spear wielding men in front of a few town militias and police forces who know that they're coming, and they're not going to last long. What was left of them fled west. Dunno what happened to them after that."

The punk girl spoke up again. "We keep getting rumours out here that they've taken over some pissant town down south east. No-one's ever been able to confirm it so they must be doing well, if it's true."

Jassic huffed and turned to Abigail and Kyle. "Don't mind her, thinking she knows it all. You -know- you don't know shit about 'em, Kirren."

"Any word is better than no word," Kirren replied, looking at the man with condescension. "And since raider blood is all that keeps the drink coming, I for one like to stay well informed."

"You are such a slave to your wage," came Lyster's nasal voice as he leapt back up into his seat opposite her, evidently having had enough of walking beside the wheels. "But you are probably right. The Club King's body would have been made a very public prize if anyone had managed to claim it."

"And the Spades?" Abigail asked, finishing with her PipBoy and pulling the sleeve of her black leather jacket over it.

"Disbanded and deceased," Kyle said. "They never got the same kind of foothold as they others, so people kept hunting them down and wiping them out. A new group calling themselves The Spades pops up every few years, and usually get put down again before they've got enough people or weaponry to defend themselves."

"So," Abigail surmised, "we're better off nowadays then, with just two gangs to worry about?"

"Mostly it's just easier to manage," Kirren replied. "But the Diamonds and Hearts have become more of a threat individually too. And there's the Jokers too."

"They have their own gang?"

Kirren shook her head, and shifted on the floor of the cart. "No, there's just the two of them. The two dud bullets that keep showing up at the wrong time." She shrugged. "Don't worry about them though. You'll probably never meet them. I doubt anyone here has, except the quiet guy walking with the other cart." She pointed over to the cart in front. "Nathanial. The one with the sand-mask."

Abigail looked over to see who she was talking about. True enough there was a fairly tall, short haired man walking ahead of them, wearing a cover-all type suit in a colour that matched the yellow of the sand, and with a filter-mask over his nose and mouth. Rather than carrying a pack like the rest of them, all his belongings seemed to be hidden in the dozen or so pockets and sewn on holsters in his clothing.

"So, what did he say about them?"

Jassic chuckled evilly and beat Kirren to the answer. "Heh, he never said much of anything 'bout it. His tongue was one of the bits they cut out of him."

Abigail looked back to the man, who walked along with a steady purposefully stride. "Christ. What is with this place?"

"Eh," Jassic shrugged. "Life sucks sometimes. 'specially for him. At least the girls love him for it. You chicks really go for the tragic hero type, eh? I hear he got the whore house all to himself one time in Micasa, didn't cost him a single cap. Pity he's got nothing to get up any more, ha ha!"

Kirren tilted her head to one side. "Strange, I heard he managed well enough regardless. I might try and find out. Apparently he's a real challenge to satisfy! Maybe you'd care to lend a hand, girls?"

Abigail blanched behind her shades. "No, I'm... I'm good, thanks."

Sharn just smiled in self-satisfaction and shook her head, sliding herself down into Kyle's lap. "Me too."

--

The carts made steady progress as the day wore on, the brahmin never seeming to tire or complain about their heavy loads, and the encroaching tedium was staved off as their bored travelling companions grew chattier to pass the time.

As it turned out Jassic and Bason, who were now the pair that walked on guard beside the cart as the afternoon wore on, had been partners in pretty much everything from crime to construction to mercenary-licensed killings since they had been in their teens. Now both a great deal larger and hairier they leaped on any available Merc jobs they could find around Corva, and otherwise made their livings repairing the many half-build homes in the town. Abigail thought that Jassic was as bad as Rathley, if not nastier, with his cruel humour and gruesome talk, but Bason seemed a much milder sort. Where Jassic was strongly built Bason was more a mix of muscle and fat, but he was both interesting himself and interested in learning about the others. The gentle straight man to Jassic's bull-headed clown.

The other man she had caught the name of, Lyster, was obviously regarded as a coward and a liability by the others. He looked like a human weasel, and was probably as thin as a rake beneath his huge cloaks, but he was quick witted and had a very penetrating stare. He seemed as though he was analysing whatever he looked at, even with just a glance, and it made him unnerving to watch. He was a run of the mill Scav according to the others, but one that had a knack of coming back to town with a suspiciously large profit.

Rathley and his old friend had taken Jassic and Bason's seats in the cart, and the old man was introduced to her just as Bert. Bert was easily in his sixties but had still walked beside the cart for miles before Jassic and Bason had taken over their shift, so he was obviously fit despite his stoop. He also had the unnerving habit of forever checking the safety on his long, double barrelled shotgun, but Abigail was assured that he knew exactly what he was doing with it. He had made his living in gecko hunting in his youth, and gradually worked up to larger vermin or prey.

By turns Bert also shed some new light on Rathley himself. They had teamed up several times in the past to hunt scorpions at the behest of several towns east of the Cobalt Line, like Corva. They had a good amount respect for each other, but one that couldn't quite be called friendship considering the amount of verbal abuse Bert lavished upon Rathley. However, he did say that if he was ever lost in the desert then the one man he would want with him would be Rathley. He was, in Bert's opinion, a survivalist extraordinaire. And while Rathley was evidently not popular among their cartload of Mercs and Scavs, no-one denied it either.

The last man in their cart was a very tall and square faced Merc, who Abigail had seen cleaning his pistol at the mayor's meeting the day before. He wasn't particularly sociable, but Abigail found out that his name was Seb and that he was much more of a wanderer than the others in their cart. Like Chopper he was known to have wandered from town to town, ending up in Corva twice over the last ten years, and for all anyone could get out of him he would probably be leaving again soon if nothing came of this job. However, while Chopper had come from the west, travelling below the Cobalt Line and then back up north, Seb had been born on the east coast of the Wasteland. He was much like Kyle, a gun for hire, but he seemed to have a much wider repertoire of weapons to his name.

It made Kyle quite defensive when that subject came up. "I don't -need- to be good with your shotguns and rifles. You make any shot with your rifle, and -I- can match it with a nine mil pistol!"

Unfortunately for the rest of the men, Seb didn't take him up on that offer. He just muttered to himself about wasting ammunition and went back to sorting through his huge pack.

Chopper was similarly taciturn, now that she had woken up. Abigail suspected that she was still annoyed at her after the day before, but she, like Rathley, didn't seem to be much loved by the rest of them either. However, unlike Rathley she didn't invite their accusations or abuse. Instead she just read through page after page of the medical textbook Abigail had brought with her to pass the time herself. The rest of their belongings had been stowed at their usual Corva employer's safe house, but Abigail had had the foresight to bring a book that was both large and that she, Sharn and Chopper all had an interest in. Basic first aid was always useful, while Chopper had ignored that and instead started on the chapters about massive blood loss, and how to prevent it in five easy steps.

Thankfully for Abigail the other two women were more amicable. Kirren was a wanderer and professional Merc, like Seb, going from town to town and offering her services. She, however, had a much more specific niche. She hunted raiders. They were all she set out to kill, and she had become very good at it. She was also the ideal infiltrator, thanks to her mutable punk look, completed with bright green mohawk and ears full of piercing holes, and her knowledge of raider lifestyles.

The other woman, Stephanie, seemed much more normal, but Abigail knew that on the surface that didn't necessarily count for much. She had long blonde hair and wore a very wide straw hat the keep the sun off her skin, along with the yellow-brown leather armour that seemed to be so predominant among them. What was curious about her was her choice of weaponry because, once it had been made the matter of discussion, she was all too eager to show off her guns.

Frankly, Abigail thought that they looked bodged together out of scrap, but she feigned interest since the others seemed so impressed. One was a very large pistol, but built to fire high velocity rifle ammunition. It was the sniper's equivalent of a sawn-off shotgun, Abigail guessed, though why a sniper would sacrifice accuracy for concealability was anyone's guess. The other was a large, double barrelled shotgun of sorts, but made fully automatic with a rotating cylindrical cartridge underneath either side. It looked and sounded hideous, and being able to fire fourteen shells in five seconds was surely massive overkill, but Abigail didn't doubt her when she claimed there was nothing it couldn't kill.

And the girl had technical skill, if she had made them herself. Abigail had not expected surface dwellers to be mechanically inclined, but this woman seemed to be a notable exception. It was just a shame that she could only put that skill towards making things that killed people more quickly.

In the end, as evening began to fall and people started to talk about setting camp and who deserved to use the campfires to cook first, Abigail finally followed Chopper's lead and pulled her jacket sleeve back from over her PipBoy. She would worry about food when Sharn told her it was time. Until then she could read the small, green glowing words that came up on the screen, and finally lose herself in her written memories for the first time since coming above ground.

--

"Ah, so you are here after all."

Abigail knew that voice. She looked down from the gymnasium climbing wall to see the one person who, above all others in Vault 42, she had so desperately -not- wanted to see right then.

Overseer Jahera stood plainly below, looking as middle aged and annoyingly calm as ever. Nothing ever seemed to fluster her - Abigail knew, she had tried - and she had a lecture for every occasion, always delivered simply and without judgement.

It was enough to make Abigail spit. To her, every word sounded spoken down to her. Overseer Jahera knew all of life's little secrets, and she was just too smug and self satisfied to share them.

"You missed our appointment."

Abigail looked back up to the wall, and launched herself angrily at her next hand hold. "I don't need it."

Her hands slipped easily over the moulded grips. Her legs missed. Abigail suddenly found herself falling down the face of the wall, until her upper arms took the strain and kept her hanging on by her fingertips. She heard Overseer Jahera gasp below her, and that only made her limbs tremble harder after that moment of adrenal fear. She didn't need anyone to see a fumble like that. Not now. She pulled herself across so her toes could reach their own plastic purchases, and swallowed down her nerves. She was sweating now, and that would only make it harder to climb.

Then Overseer Jahera spoke again. "Abby, how long have you been going? You look exhausted. Just come down and sit with me for a moment, to catch your breath. Please."

Abigail closed her eyes and swallowed down her rebellious urge to go higher. That hadn't been a request. When an Overseer gave you an order, you did as you were told.

Abigail made her way shakily from grip to foothold to grip, scaling her way down the advanced wall and wishing that she hadn't been caught. "Lets just get this over with," she said, deciding not to beat around the bush. "Am I sacked from the festival? Or are you going to kick me off my maintenance training?"

To her annoyance Overseer Jahera smiled at her. "No need for all that, there's no drama involved."

"No drama?!" Abigail retorted. "I fell off the ropes ON STAGE! In the -middle- of the festival!! That's..."

Abigail didn't know what it was, but whatever it was, it was so -very-... that!

"Embarrassing, I know. And everyone, and I do mean everyone, was worried for more than your pride."

"Exactly!! In front of -everyone-..!"

Overseer Jahera shushed with a look. "... none of whom laughed, and all of whom were glad when you stood back up on your own two feet. I know you're not so arrogant that you would try and justify your failures, so why not take this as a learning experience? It looked like a difficult routine, and the worst you have to worry about now is people saying you bit off a little more than you could chew."

Abigail took a seat on the bench, a safe distance away, and looked down at her feet. "They're calling me 'Jinx' again."

"Ah, that." Overseer Jahera sighed. "A bad joke, I know. We all have our faults, Abby. I can't keep my nose to myself, just the way you can't help a little inattention at the wrong times. So, I'm a busybody, and you're unlucky. I know it's not fair when people spread rumours like that, especially when it's boys like Alfred, but if you don't let it get to you then they'll get bored of bringing it up."

Abigail didn't believe it. "Everyone keeps saying that, but whenever I do something wrong it's all 'Jinx' this and 'Jinx' that all over again."

From the look on her face Abigail could see that, even though she did not know it herself, Overseer Jahera knew she had a chip on her shoulder over that unfortunate joke. "And you get flustered all over again too. I know you don't lack confidence, Abby, so where does that self-doubt come from? Do you believe it when they say you're unlucky?"

Abigail lost a little of that angry fire inside herself. "But it's not my fault I mess up like that!"

Overseer Jahera gave her an odd, accepting look then, and she wouldn't really come to understand what it meant until a few more years had passed. Maybe 'Jinx' had become Abigail's excuse not to be perfect. Her own secret, guilty cop-out.

But then, that didn't explain why that bad luck seemed to afflict those around her either. That was the ridiculous straw that always broke the poor camel's back. The failures of others were, for some unfair reason, also her fault. Because they always happened more when she was around.

"Then don't let it get to you. I know you can laugh it off, Abby, because that's the kind of girl you are. You've just got to put that confidence of yours into practice, even when things start to go wrong."

Abigail would never come to like the woman, but at fifteen she had just discovered that she might be able to respect her.

Overseer Jahera got up from the bench, and motioned for Abigail to follow. "Here, like this."

The Overseer led her over to the door, and Abigail held her breath expectantly. Gillian and Alice would be there, listening in, but in her memories and her diary Abigail had found them after Overseer Jahera had left her with those things to think about. Instead, now, Gillian was not accompanied by Alice, but by Overseer Beatrice, and Sharn.

"Go on," Overseer Jahera urged. "You can say it."

Abigail trembled nervously under the weight of their combined gaze. "I... I lov..."

The suddenly, before she could finish, she found a pair of strong, bare arms around her, and a pair of lips pushing heavily against her own. Abigail blinked to find herself staring into Chopper's complex, smiling eyes. "Hey, Abby..."

--

"... Abby!"

Abigail's eyes shot open, and she gulped in a lungful of air to try and ease the shock of being woken so suddenly, and from so disturbingly vivid a dream.

"Come on, it's sun up already," Chopper said, standing fully dressed beside her bedroll. "We've got to get the tent down before the caravan leaves us behind."

Abigail looked up at her with wide, bleary eyes, and felt herself flushing.

Chopper smirked, the first one Abigail had seen on her since the pigrat fight, and quirked that overactive left eyebrow of hers. "Aww, sorry, did I interrupt anything good?"

Abigail grimaced and pulled her shades over her eyes before Chopper reached the tent flap. "It was going to get good before you barged in." The worrisome thing was that it probably would have got good even if the dream Chopper had been able to stay, instead of Sharn or Gillian or Overseer Beatrice. Chopper would have been more pleasant in the dream, Abigail guessed, and she would not have been above enjoying the fantasy for what it would have been. She looked down at the jacket that had been thrown onto her bed. That explained it. Unfortunately it wasn't such a good substitute for a pair of imaginary arms around her, now she was awake.

Now she was left feeling sluggish and frustrated as she pulled her leathers back over the jumpsuit she had slept in, before wandering out into the morning sunlight to help pack up.

"She seems more lively this morning," Sharn noted as she and Abigail folded up their tent. "I know she's a killjoy when we have to work en mass like this, but yesterday was a bit much."

Abigail felt as though she should take some of the blame for that. "Well, we did have a fight, sort of. I guess she's over it now. Ow, I think I got sunburned again. Or were my hands this red already?"

"At least they're not peeling any more. You should have worn your cloak." Sharn's look, however, was curious. "What did you fight about?"

"Just me. And what the hell I'm doing here. Even I don't know, and I guess she had plans for me or something."

"Don't worry about -her-," Sharn said seriously, waving off Abigail's concerns. "She's got lots of weird ideas. But don't let her threaten you. She tried to bully me too, when she joined up with us. Just remember; she may talk tough, but she's the one who needs -us- to protect her. She just likes to feel in control."

That made some sense, but... "Really, Sharn, it wasn't a big deal. She scared me a bit, but I actually think I needed it. I've been pretty reliant on you all. Especially you."

"What? Don't be stupid. I'm glad we've got another girl around." She let out an infectious giggle, which made Abigail feel warm. "There's only so much solidarity you can get from Chopper. When it comes to lifestyle and desert attitudes she has more in common with Rathley than me."

Mention of the wastelander's name made Abigail look around them as they finished. "Where is he anyway?"

Kirren stopped beside them, playing a bloodied skewer around in her fingers. "You're with Rathley? You poor girls. He's up with the drivers. Has been since sun-up."

"Is there a problem?" Sharn asked.

Kirren shrugged, and pulled on her short, dyed mohawk to straighten it. Abigail didn't dare to guess what it was lathered with to keep it straight, but it smelled like kitchen fat. "Who knows?" Kirren replied. "Let's go find out."

Then, as they approached the line of serious looking men, the tall and heavily muscled heckler from the meeting voiced their collective concerns. "Hey, what's the fuckin' hold up?!" he shouted from his seat in the first cart. "We gonna get to the Ring today or what?"

The drivers ignored him, while Rathley and old Bert turned to the small crowd that was gathering around them.

"Our lookout saw that swarm durin' the night," Rathley told them, pointing into the distance. Abigail thought he was being unusually businesslike, but then she remembered that desert survival -was- his business. "They've been sat there for the last four hours, so unless some of you boys are feeling gun-happy we'll have to drive wide around them and hope they don't follow. Bloody things are too close as it is."

Abigail looked to Kyle, ahead of them in the crowd. "Hey, what are they?" She could see the pale, white-green blur in the distance, but couldn't make out any individual creatures in the undulating mass.

"Mantises," Kyle replied. "They're what left the insect casings you saw on the other side of Corva." He squinted at the carpet of insects. "There must be... twenty five or thirty of them in a swarm that size. They're predators, so normally if you see a couple of them you just shoot - they're pretty fragile as desert insects go - but that many? We'll just have to see if there's a group here willing to waste the ammo on them. Otherwise we'll spend half an hour backing up and trying to leave them alone."

"Why didn't you say that before?" came a woman's voice from the back of the group. "I'll clear them in no time!"

All eyes turned to Stephanie, and she pulled her double barrelled machine gun from her pack and hefted it into her hands. "Time to show you what the Shotheart Double Driver can do!"

The lead caravan driver looked to his female companion, who shrugged. "If you think you can do it, then do it."

"Hold up," Kyle called as Stephanie stepped forward. "We'll play clean up for you. Just in case."

The Abigail got a shock as Kyle suddenly took her hand, and hauled her forward along with him. "Hey! What..." she grabbed hold of her wits and tried to act as coolly as she dressed. "Kyle!" she whispered, as the pair of them walked up to a rather non-plussed Stephanie. "What are you doing?!"

The obscenely beweaponed woman stared at them hard, and reached her hand up to play with her long blonde ringlets. Of all of them in the carts, only she, Abigail and Chopper had hair that could really be called long. "You think I can't do it? I don't need your help."

Kyle lowered his voice. "Listen, just play along, okay? Our little Abby gets some training in against any stragglers, and no-one finds out that you can't shoot straight, okay?"

Stephanie looked at them both hard for a moment. Then she grumbled something under her breath before forcing a smile onto her face. "Deal, let's go."

As they walked towards the insectile mass Stephanie fidgeted with her weapon for a moment, before finally saying what was obviously on her mind. "How could you tell I don't shoot?"

Kyle shrugged. "A few little things. The hair is a giveaway. Like Abby, you're more for show than for fighting with it long like that. I kept wondering what was with the straw hat. All the outright showman stuff too, like that sway with the hips, and the huge smile whenever you're showing off that thing. That's too flirty just to be showing off. You're either looking for a partner or a buyer."

Stephanie sighed. "Buyer. This trip was -supposed- to be my sales pitch. Trying these weapons out is all the practice I have time for. Not that I care about shooting anyway."

"So..." Abigail said, "we are walking towards thirty meat-eating insects, and only one of us is a fighter?"

"That's the beauty of it," Stephanie said, beaming. "Even the worst shooter in the world could kill a whole pack of molerats with this, as long as they can handle the kick! This armour," she slapped her leather covered chest, "is just in case."

Unfortunately that didn't ease her worry as much as Abigail had hoped it would. As they got closer she could start making out individual insects within the swarm, and they looked a larger than their dried up casings had suggested. Sitting there, their pale wings sat flat against their bodies, and had appeared to be a whole creature on their own, while in truth each one lay close to the dry earth, with their bulb-eyed heads and long, grasping forearms held out in front of them, making each creature over a foot long.

And it wasn't too long before the first spied them, and the entire blanket of green rose up on slender, twiggy legs to greet them.

"Oh shit."

"You really are a newbie, Abby," Stephanie said with a smile. "Now watch this."

She spread her feet and levelled the large, double barrelled weapon at the approaching swarm, and once the first insect was close enough all hell broke loose from its muzzles.

The noise was deafening as Stephanie, straining under the repeated recoils of the gun, fired off her first five shell burst. Abigail had to cover her ears, and make sure she did not look to far into the erupting mass of insects, or else the blasts from the gun would blind her around the edges of her shades.

But it was a horrific sight, watching as a second four shell burst shredded another seven creatures. Legs and pincer-like forearms flew from their bodies, trailing blood as they flew above the twitching and chattering mass that lined up for the slaughter. Whether they were dumb or just moving on their own swarming instinct Abigail didn't know, but they skittered and flew at Stephanie until only a few were left, and by then they did not have the cover of their numbers to save them from the gunsmith woman's machine.

It was all over in seven seconds, and it probably would have been less if Stephanie had not needed time between bursts to steady herself and aim again. Abigail just looked on, stunned at the bloody sight as the last fully mobile insect was ripped to pieces by Stephanie's last shotgun shell.

Or second to last shell, at least. The gunsmith swore as the weapon made a clanking sound, and the trigger jammed. "Damn it! Seriously, the first time ever you have to jam, and it happens now!" She set the weapon down and pulled a screwdriver from under her leather vest. "And I must have wasted three shells trying to finish off those flying ones. Just goes to show how good this gun is if it can finish that lot in my hands, eh?"

She pried the right cylinder from its casing, and out popped the offending shell. "Just for that, you are getting sold!"

Abigail had to marvel at the woman. Outwardly she was a proper girly girl, in her attitude at least, and yet she spent her time building weapons like that! If she had not been wearing the leather armour Abigail would never have guessed what she did for a living.

"It is impressive," Kyle had to agree as he surveyed the damage. "Though far too blunt for my tastes."

He pointed into the bloody mess, at a mantis that could still move, though its left wing and a left leg had been blown off. "There, that one. Abby, see if you can hit it from here."

Abigail looked at the distance, and at the lopsided and staggering creature. "Kyle, I really don't want to do anything more to it. I mean, look at it."

Kyle turned to her, and after a moments thought he adopted a gentler demeanour. "Then put it out of its misery, hm? Remember, most of the creatures out here would try and chew you up if you let them, and he's not going to last long out here trying to fly around like that. Either you kill it now and show yourself that you can rely on your weapons, or we let it go and it gets eaten by a gecko."

Abigail looked at the limping thing, and swallowed hard. "Alright."

Even bobbing and wobbling like that, Abigail didn't think it would be a difficult shot. She reached into her jacket pocket, and pulled out one of her steel handled knives. She couldn't throw it like a dart, there was not enough hilt to make a proper grip, and it was an awkwardly slim rectangle to hold anyway. However, she slipped it between her fingers, and with a little wind up she threw it straight.

It hit the mantis with none of Stephanie's cacophonic fanfare, but the blade cut into its bleeding body and knocked the creature to the ground. The giant insect let out an alien sort of hiss, and it tried to get back to its feet with the help of its fore claws, but the knife had done enough and slipped from the mantis' body, leaving its vital fluids to pour from the wound. In a few seconds the creature stopped moving altogether.

"Damn," Kyle whistled, sounding impressed. "First throw too. I guess you'll do okay with those things after all. You know, even your jacket could block a decent amount of the damage from a thrown blade, but as long as you aim for somewhere that isn't protected..."

Abigail just nodded. It didn't feel as justified as it had against the pigrat. Then again she hadn't finished the pigrat off herself, only made sure that it would die one way or the other.

And now she had to retrieve her knife.

'Well,' she thought, walking across the pile of mantis bodies while Kyle put a finishing bullet into another struggling, half-dead insect, 'that is that. I can do it. Chopper said I had to be able to defend myself. It doesn't mean I have to like it.'

--

When Abigail had heard that their destination was called the Diamond Ring, it had put into her head the image of a great circular market, entrenched behind vast sheets of steel and almost military fortification. There would be a leather clad bastard patrolling those huge walls, and huge, heavy doors would let in the amoral trading parties that the raiders would need to survive. In return for their water, food and guns the traders would be paid in gold or gems as the Diamond's showed off their ill gotten wealth.

The real place did not live up to that image, even from a distance. It was large, but that was where the similarity ended.

"It looks like a prison," Abigail noted to the others as they drew up outside the gate made of metal meshing, topped with coils of glinting razor wire. Inside was a huge yard, before you got to the building proper; a huge, flat concrete thing four stories high, with more miniature windows across its front surface than Abigail could count

"It is," Kirren replied, while the others accepted Abigail's assessment. "This is the strongest pre-war building between the Cobalt Line and the edge of the Mid Waste. It's amazing that the Diamonds could take it at all."

"If they had to." The weasel-like Lyster was grinning as he said it. "You think those fools could have fought their way in here? They got lucky and found it unguarded, that's all."

The slimy man got a smack to the head from the heavily muscled heckler (Abigail hadn't caught his name, and didn't want to) for taking the trouble to speak at all. "Zip it, rat-Scav. Welcome to the Ring, ladies and fuckwads! Ain't it just the best shooting gallery you ever been part of?!"

Abigail could see that several of the others were thinking similar things. "What, you mean we have to camp out here?" Stephanie asked. "We'll be sitting ducks!"

"Eh, tell me about it," the heckler huffed. "I dunno why I keep coming back to this deathtrap."

"Hey," called the one woman Abigail had not met properly, the first driver's companion, "you keep coming back alive. What have you got to complain about? Okay everyone, listen up, here's how this works! If you don't already know, myself, Cain and Anton here are going to be the only three they let through this gate!"

The noise from those who had never visited the Diamond Ring before was impressive, worried and angry in equal parts. And somehow Rathley's own astonishment could be heard over it, quieting them again.

"Hey, those two are the heavies... The -whore- is our negotiator?!"

Everyone went very quiet after that.

"Rathley!" Abigail exclaimed, assuming he was being rude, but apparently he was just stating a fact.

"Eh? She's not one of Marge's, blow it out of your ass Rathley!"

Rathley just returned Jassic's rebuke with a dull stare. "No, she is. She's just too specialist for your type. Right Lilis?"

Lilis looked less than please with him, but shrugged her shoulders. "I prefer the term 'exclusive', and considering I'm the one who will be trying to get you back alive you might want to watch your step, Rathley."

"Anyway," she went on, changing the subject to the disappointment of several of the men, "yes, the rest of you get to camp here. The Diamonds tend not to take prisoners, so if we don't come out by sundown you can consider us dead. If they gun us down in the yard, it might be worth blowing down the gate and haling us out for our shares, but otherwise just leave, because you won't get to the building alive. If the Diamonds start shooting at -you-, return fire and take cover behind the fence poles. It's not much, but they are better than nothing. Most of the shooters will be on the top floor and the roof, so aim high. If the Diamonds cease fire they'll only start up again if you stick around too long, so that's your cue to load up the bodies and run."

"That doesn't sound like much of a choice for us," Kyle said.

Lilis shrugged again, and smiled. "You'd be surprised how much damage you can do to them from here with a spread of lead shot and a few good rifles. They get overconfident."

"How much do you cost?" Jassic asked with an amused leer.

Lilis' stare was deadpan. "If you wanted what I have to offer, the girls would refer you, so keep it in your pants. Your job is to guard our ride home, and keep watch on the windows and roof. If it's likely to go bad, we'll be getting out ASAP."

"How?" Sharn asked. "It sounds pretty impenetrable."

"Only from the outside," Kirren said.

Lilis looked fairly impressed. "Exactly. If we have to escape," she added, "they'll be too busy with you to worry about us until we are already outside."

--

"Come on you old bastard, what does she cost? And what do you get for it!?"

"Hell, what makes -you- so special in the first place?"

Rathley grinned. "I'll try anything once. She's one of those girls whose parents must have gone skinny dipping in a glowing spring on their honeymoon..."

Abigail tuned her attention back out of that conversation as quickly as she had tuned in. "Is it always like this?" She asked as she sat in the shade of the cart with Sharn, Kyle, Stephanie and Kirren. Chopper sat above them in the back of it, still reading the huge medical textbook.

"It depends on the job," Sharn replied. "I've not done too much proper mercenary work, so..."

"Well, I'm usually one of the ones going in," Kirren said. She was giving herself an impromptu manicure with her hunting knife. "But negations suck either way. Being bored's all well and good, but if you're waiting to find out whether you're going to be shot for it... it's not so much fun."

"Oh, don't," Stephanie moaned, letting her false professionalism slip. "They've been in there for an hour. I mean, how long can this take?"

Kirren shrugged. "Depends. Our negotiator might be a whore, but the Diamond King already has a Queen, so I doubt she can sweeten the deal the way Rathley expects her to."

"You're kidding," Sharn said, "a monogamous raider boss?"

"Yep. That's the word on it. Except a few rumours about him and his Ace when the Queen is away, but people who spread that one tend to end up dead. They're a protective little play-family at the top."

"But not at the bottom?" Abigail asked.

Kirren shrugged. "Grunts are grunts. They dress alike, but they say you only think like a Diamond if you were born a Diamond."

"Though they'll be the only ones who think that's a good thing," Kyle added.

Then from the back of the cart Chopper spoke up. "Speaking of the retards..."

Kyle and Kirren instantly got to their feet. "What?"

"I think our roof watchers have something." She pointed to Lyster and the silent, masked Nathanial. "Two on the left side, one right... I think I see one on that raised block as well, beside the broken water tower."

"Oh Shit!" Kirren exclaimed, reaching into the back of the cart for her rifle. "Everyone! Get down and take aim! They're setting up positions!"

Sharn picked up her own more slender rifle, but squinted at the building. "I see them, but they don't look like they're all gunning for us."

Old Bert had his binoculars out, and had to agree with her. "Your right girl, more like they're makin' a perimeter."

He panned his view down along the side of the horizon. "Unless we've got company as well..."

His pause would have been followed by another call for cover, had the distant reports of rifles not shattered the tense air. Everyone who could dived or scrambled for any bit of cover they could find, clambering over the carts and over each other to be the first to conceal themselves. Instantly Sharn was under the cart, laying herself safely between the wheels and taking aim, while Jassic and Bason filled the air with more explosions, letting rip with their shotguns.

"Perimeter bullshit!" old Bert cursed himself as he steadied his own shotgun over the side of the cart. "Those bustards were even aiming for our spotters!"

Kirren let off a round from her rifle, before turning back to those of them who had yet to ready their guns. "Get the Brahmin behind the carts and keep them still!"

Kyle knew his pistols would not be worth as much as a rifle or shotgun in this fight, and dashed to the second cart to grab the reins of the brahmin that kicked and struggled against its harness. Abigail, realising that she had to do something, ran to try and calm the animal behind their own cart. Jassic was using the crying animal as cover, and she smacked him to get him out of the way before tugging on the reins and, struggling against its frightened strength, pulled it around behind their meagre wooden cover.

Between the thunder of their own guns she could hear those distant shots ring out again, and she flinched, and tried to pull the animal down, but there was too much panic and gunfire around her to tell anything other than that she was still unharmed. For now.

But after trying to psyche herself up, this was a battle that she could not even take part in. Sharn and Kirren were in their element, taking careful precise shots with their rifles, and of the others behind their cart only old Bert seemed frustrated by his shotgun's lack of accuracy. Even Stephanie, her panic now subdued, was unloading her repeating shotgun at the building, and her rifle-pistol was ready, tucked into the back of her belt for the moment that the shotgun had emptied itself.

Kyle also shot, leaning back against his kneeling brahmin for stability, and taking pain over his aim with just one of his pistols. However, Abigail could feel for his annoyed expression. Fighting - no, combat - seemed to be his expertise, and yet this was a kind of battle that marginalised the weapons he was most skilled with.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the terrible noise ended. Their more sensible shooters had realised that they were no longer being attacked, and Jassic's shotgun, along with the whining rattle of Lyster's thin automatic pistol, was halted when a screeching, amplified voice called out from the prison building.

"That's enou-h, Mercs! You ca- -top shooting now. It won't do you any g-od anyway!"

They all waited, but like Abigail none dared to show themselves yet.

"This deal is done, so keep your pa--etic and noisy guns quiet unless you want to shoot your own precious negot--tor. You've had our blood, we'v- -ad yours, so run away back to your little h-mes before we lick our wounds and deci-- to up our price!"

True enough, looking over the top of the cart Abigail could see the slender form of Lilis walking out, with her hands raised above her head but standing straight and unafraid. Then with wary eyes, she looked around at the rest of their caravan. Most of them had come out of the fight unscathed, but those who had not held her gaze with frightening power.

The large, obnoxious heckler man had been killed quickly and efficiently, before he had even had the chance to find cover. He lay sprawled on his back, three neat holes in his tough, armoured leather breastplate, and at least one of them had punched through into his chest, because the blood had welled up to fill the hole and seep out into the hardened fabric. One of the caravan drivers must also have been hit in the first volley of fire, because his body lay crumpled in the back of his lead caravan. Only a single bullet had taken him down, neatly entering his temple and tearing away the opposite side of his skull as it had exited.

And Nathaniel, the silent and once tortured man that Abigail had felt so sorry for, sat slumped against the railings. Like the heckler man he had been at the front, and so had quickly taken refuge behind the meagre pole that held the fence up. They must have done their job as Lilis had said, because the poles were now bent from the force of at least one shot, and Nathaniel still sat in his cover position. Evidently the Diamonds had wanted him dead, because two bullets had caught the poor man in the stomach, through the fence poles, but not penetrated his own tougher and more synthetic looking armour. Then a third had slipped above the lip of that armour, between his collar bones. It must have been a lucky shot to find that opening between his armour and his mask, hidden beneath his cloak, but it had been deadly. As she stared morbidly at his limp form, she wondered if the impacts to his stomach had been enough for him to fold over and open his guard, while still looking up at the building for his targets.

Lyster, also behind one of those poles, had a frayed hole in his own armour, but it did not leak in the way the heckler's did. By the faint rise of his pained chest, she could easily tell that he was playing dead. It was just as clear that he had lost control of his bladder. Again, apparently.

"Chopper," she whispered into the cart, where the doctor had hidden, "He's still alive..."

Chopper huffed, looking as harassed as Abigail felt. "Another dud bullet comes back... "

Beside Abigail Bason was watching Lilis' return as he clutched at his own arm. "It looks like she's lost her guards."

"And we've lost our spotters," old Bert added. "They must have some real marksmen in there to pick off a couple of targets like that."

Kirren nodded and checked the ammunition in her rifle, sitting back against the wheel of the cart. "Of course. This place has to be defended from a distance. Ace is a knife fighter when she's outside, but with a rifle she could take out a Radscorpion from a mile away. And I know they had at least four other decent snipers last time I was in there."

"Then they could have killed us off if they'd wanted to," Sharn growled, crawling from beneath the cart and spitting out a few grains of sand.

"I doubt it, but there wouldn't be many of us left, and we'd be leaving on foot," Rathley corrected her. "You got good eyes, Sugar. How many do you think we got?"

Sharn looked annoyed, but at herself rather than Rathley's question. "I know I made one kill on the roof, but beyond that..."

Kirren looked at her in surprise. "That was your shot? Damn... I knew it wasn't me. I just scared Ace back down, after she capped our driver. Almost got her too, but no way was I giving her time to get a second shot at us."

Sharn smiled in appreciation. "Well, we got a few hits in I think, but whether they were what those bastards deserve..."

Old Bert grumbled a little to himself. "Eh, I guess that's where the maths gets us then."

Abigail turned her attention to him. She felt ill again, but that seemed like such an odd thing to say after four people in their party had been shot. "What do you mean, maths?"

"If they got both our spotters..." Bert took a moment to straighten himself up again, and looked over to Lilis as she walked out through the electronically operated gate. "And both her guards, then they must think fair is fair. Was that the plan, Miss Negotiator? Blood for blood?"

Lilis paused in her surveying of the damage, and looked straight at them. "Believe me, Bert, this was the better of the options, and we are coming out with a far less costly deal than King wanted: the lives of six of his raiders, and his son, in exchange for seven of us, of his choice. Thankfully the idea of taking the Mayor's own men was appealing enough to keep five of you alive."

Abigail looked aghast. "This... they were killed for a deal?"

Lilis nodded. "We got our information, and we lost fewer decent men than any bad deal we've ever made with these fuckers. We knew there would probably be blood, so Mayor Golway made sure our guard was as expendable as possible." She looked over to the cart, and the dead driver inside. "Though I didn't bank on losing Samuel when I suggested this compromise. And I had hoped they might not be able to claim Nathaniel either. He was a good man."

"He'll make a good martyr then," Rathley said. "What did you trade for the information? The eighth victim? A little special service?"

Lilis looked around, and finished counting up the bodies. "One of you must have got a good shot early on."

"Well you could have told us that this was the plan!" Sharn yelled.

Lilis looked dispassionately at her. "It wasn't a plan, it was decided when King made his own ultimatum. Believe me, I could be happier about this."

Not even Abigail expected it when she erupted into Lilis' face, and punched her so hard that even with her small frame the taller woman was knocked back and left reeling, her nose bloody. "You 'could be happier'!? You heartless surface freak! I don't care how disgusting they were, how can you say they deserved to die because of these stupid murderers!? How did someone like Nathanial deserve this after everything he must have gone through!?"

By the time Abigail had run out of breath, and Lilis had steadied herself and brought her hand to her bloody nose, Chopper was behind Abigail and pulling both her hands behind her back. "Abby, that's enough, right now."

Abigail stared over her shoulder at Chopper, before turning her watering eyes back to Lilis. The Negotiator just looked at her blood smeared hand, and then at Abigail herself. "Yes, I'm a 'freak'. I suppose Rathley couldn't keep his mouth to himself. It must have been too much to ask them to shoot him instead of Nathanial. But remember, Vault Girl, we only lost two men today who would have tried to save your ass from these people, if they had been invited to have a turn in exchange for their silence."

"What..."

Chopper didn't let her articulate her reply as Abigail slowly realised what Lilis meant. "Abby, time for us non-combatants to earn our pay. Help me put these bodies on the cart."

"Hey, don't forget I could use a medic here, Chopper."

True enough a stray bullet had grazed Bason's arm, which bled unpleasantly through his fingers as he held the wound.

"And get me off this fucking floor," Lyster grated out through his clenched teeth. "Before they realise I'm not dead!"

Abigail tried to reign in her instinctive revulsion as she and Chopper both took hold of one of Nathanial's arms. But even though he was dead and blood had poured down his cloaks from the hole at his collar, she told herself that surely the poor man deserved to be taken home. How she would bring herself to do the same for the unpleasant heckler she did not know.

Chopper was far less concerned by the corpses she would have to handle. "Don't worry, you slimy bastard. We'll sling you on the corpse cart last, after I've had a look at Bason!"

"Let's make it fast," Lilis called to them all as Chopper and Abigail got started. "They -will- start shooting again if they find any more corpses in there!"

Next to Sharn, Kirren noted as they both packed away their rifles, "That Abby, she's not quite the wastelander you people made her out to be."

Sharn didn't think she could deny it, after Abigail's heartfelt outburst. Then again, she doubted Abigail would have hit Lilis at all only four days ago. "Actually, I think she's becoming that wastelander so quickly she doesn't know how to cope."

As Kyle rejoined his partner he had to agree. "She's out here, isn't she? And I'd say she took control of the brahmin fast enough. Not bad, when you think she's only been out of her vault for a week."

Kirren gave him a disbelieving look. "A week?"

Sharn nodded. "She was so sick with radiation she's only been eating solid food for three days!"

They watched, curious, as Abigail tried to lay Nathanial's body into the cart as gently as possible, and closed his staring eyes.

It seemed to be on impulse that Kirren walked over, followed by the other two. "Hey. It's a damn shame we had to lose him."

Abigail looked up, but she was too upset about everything that had just happened to feel the appreciation she knew she should.

Instead Sharn gave her a smile. "Come on, Abby-girl, I'll help you out."

Abigail smiled back, watery eyed, but shook her head. "Thanks, but I should get used to this, right?"

Behind her Chopper spoke, her voice calm but with a faint note of her old, morbid humour. "No you shouldn't. You've just got to live with it every now and again."

Abigail looked up at her, and for once she thought she understood what Chopper was getting at. She wiped at her wet cheeks with her jacket sleeves, before the tears could slide further from behind her shades. "Then let's get it over with. I want to go home."

Wherever that was.

--

To be continued...

--

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2008


	6. The Wasteland War Bride

After the Vault: Chapter 06

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

---

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 06

The Wasteland War Bride.

While the shootout at the Diamond Ring had taken its toll on the members of the caravan, the carts and Brahmin themselves had come out largely unscathed. Thanks to that the mercenaries were able to put a good distance between themselves and the Ring by the time the sun had started to set. The extended trek did mean that those who had not brought rations with them would have to hunt for their supper in the dark, or on the hoof, but as far as most were concerned that was a reasonable price to ensure that the Diamonds were far enough behind them not to attempt anything after dark.

One of the carts had now been designated the 'corpse cart', to Abigail's disgust when she heard the moniker, and while it was a necessity it was also a source of contention among the group as they finally pitched tent and each began preparing their meals.

"Especially since we got no spotters now," Jassic warned. "I bet Lyster'd try somethin' in a heartbeat, and he'd get away with it too."

"Don't worry about that," Kyle advised Jassic, Bason and Kirren, as they sat around their overlarge campfire with Sharn, Chopper and Stephanie. "I'll be keeping watch tonight, no matter what Lilis has planned."

It was clear that he, like many of them, thought they should have been privy to the deal they had been a part of. As it was Lyster was curiously absent from either of the two large campfires. Smelling of urine and soaked in dried blood he hadn't been welcome in the forward cart, but he hadn't been fit to be one of the many walking beside it either. As such he had sat alone on the corpse cart, though looking only mildly disgruntled by the prospect once Chopper had treated him, for a fee. In fact, as one of those on foot Jassic had fallen behind to make sure that Lyster wasn't stupid enough to be scouring the bodies for their loot already.

"For that matter," Stephanie asked, eating out of a dry packet, "where's knife girl too?"

Sharn didn't appreciate the crude name, but pointed to the passenger cart. "-Abigail- is still asleep. I didn't want to wake her after all that."

Bason wiped the steak sauce from his beard, after cleaning out the last of his three day meat-box. "She doesn't want to eat? No wonder she's so skinny."

"I'll save her some of ours," Sharn said, motioning to the pan that she had cooked in. "I didn't think Rathley would be eating with them either," she added, pointing to the other group, "so she can have his. Only fair after the shit he's put her through."

"So I heard," Stephanie agreed. "Why do you girls travel with him anyway? He's a freak."

"You're kiddin', right?" Jassic said. "Weren't you listenin' on the way up? He can afford to be an asshole, because he's good. I bet you he's the only reason these guys'd go up that close to the Cobalt Line in the first place, let alone find the chick to bring back."

"That's about the size of it," Kyle agreed. "He's not that bad, once you figure out that he just likes making a ruckus."

"Yeah? Well that ruckus got Abby hurt," Sharn warned him, not quite so happy about her partner's assessment. "He keeps us alive out here and he's good in a fight, but if he doesn't stop treating her like dirt I'm going to make him sorry for it."

Then she looked to Kyle's other side, and to their currently silent partner. "You too Chopper. No more fights. She's not your pet."

Chopper paused with her tin spork half way to her mouth from her bowl of desert chowder. "What-now?"

Sharn gave her a brief, challenging look. "She told me about your fight. You said it yourself, she needs to work out what she want to do on her own, so stop bullying her into things."

"In that case you should stop coddling her." For a moment Chopper looked definitely put out, because Sharn had made such a public start to a quarrel, but soon that was gone and replaced with a knowing smirk. "It really is embarrassing how much she will fawn for your support. 'Oh no, I can't, 'Sharn' will look after me.'"

She sighed, a little over-theatrical about it. "It really is such a cute crush she has on you."

Sharn just blinked in response, utterly wrong footed. "What? You can't be..."

Chopper's smiled just continued unabated, making Sharn nervous.

"She isn't, is she?"

Chopper nodded.

"For Grandpa's sake, Abby," Sharn sighed. "Why me? Why not you? She knows you're queer."

Chopper shrugged. "I did offer. She was so cute about coming out too, like it actually mattered!"

"Maybe it did," Stephanie said. "You know how messed up vault towns can be sometimes."

"Well, if she's so fresh out of her vault," Kirren added, "I guess it's only natural she'd get hung up on you."

When Sharn gave her a doubting look Kirren went on. "Seriously. She's a vault girl. You sound like the only one here who thinks anything like her, probably. And have your been listening to yourself? If we weren't all out here getting shot up together, I wouldn't think -you- were even a Scav, let alone up for Merc work."

Sharn sighed, shaking her head and leaning onto Kyle shoulder. He put his arm around her. "Hey, she's an okay kid," Kyle said, "she'll be able to live with it."

Sharn still didn't really understand it. What did a Scav, especially one like her, have in common with a vault girl like Abigail. "What am I going to do with you, Abby-girl?"

Chopper gave her another amused but telling look. "Sia, why should you be doing anything? She's got to start sorting her own life out, right?"

---

Abigail noticed the difference instantly the next morning. She woke up in their tent, instead of in the cart where she had fallen asleep, and her rumbling stomach was pacified by a soup tin of cold sludge that had been dinner for the others the night before. The fact that the food, now cold, was unremarkable and nondescript at best was not enough to take Abigail's attention away from the fact that as their troupe alternated between breakfast and dismantling the tent, Sharn was managing to give her far more space than Abigail was comfortable with.

Since she had first woken up in the desert, blind and burning from the radiation poisoning, Sharn had insisted on keeping her close, and assuring her that they were her friends despite everything that the others had said to the contrary. Sharn had personally walked her through many of the basics of surface life, and reassured her that the desert was not only habitable, but would even be enjoyable at times once Abigail got used to it.

That morning it had been Kyle giving her the food that Sharn had made her, and a simple, "I'm okay. Come on, we have to finish up before we get left behind. Hold this," was all Abigail got when she had finally managed to greet Sharn, as they all un-pitched the tent.

Abigail felt a little hurt, but had held her tongue. Sharn was her own person, and everyone had off days, so she had simply said, "Okay," and that had been that. It had been when loading up the cart again that Abigail had begun to worry.

"Nah, I'll walk for a bit," Sharn said, with a glance so brief that Abigail wasn't even sure she had seen it at all. It had been a look she remembered far to well to believe Sharn could have worn it.

It was the one that had been etched into Abigail's mind back at the age of sixteen, when Gillian had silently passed her in those agonising days after Abigail's confession of love. A glance of uncertainty and discomfort, because Abigail was now someone else to her, and Gillian, now Sharn, didn't know how to relate to her any more.

Surely, it couldn't be. Could it?

Kyle just looked at his girlfriend and shrugged. "If you want to." He dusted off his leather trousers. "I'll join you."

Abigail looked at Chopper though. "You didn't..."

Chopper shrugged. "It made a point." She chuckled, a little cruelly. "Maybe I made it a little too well?"

"Damn it Chopper!" Abigail grabbed Kyle's sleeve to stop him, and hauled herself to her feet. "Kyle, I'm sorry, but do you mind if I go instead?"

Abigail couldn't read his response, but he slowly nodded. "If you want the exercise..." His eyes had a harder reply though. If Abigail stepped beyond the line, he wouldn't be very happy with her.

Abigail resented that, but thanked him that he hadn't made it a spoken issue. She understood all too well. It had hit her hard when she had realised that Sharn's friendship was just that. Friendship, maybe a little of the mentor and student relationship, but nothing more, and thanks to that look Abigail doubted she would have been able to take her from Kyle even if she had wanted to. Sharn, for as much as Abigail might have wished otherwise, always wore her brightest smiles when together with him, hand in hand or lying across him like a satisfied wildcat.

Kyle, Abigail thought as she hopped out of the back of the cart, was a very lucky man. And thankfully, by the smiles he returned to his lover, he seemed to know it.

Sitting up by the driver and Lilis, Rathley looked down at Chopper. "What was that about? You been havin' fun with 'em without me?"

Chopper just grinned. "It's a girl thing, and Sharn's just not that type of girl."

"What, you mean Abby's a dyke too? Not even two-way? Oh fuck it, you know I wanted a piece of her!"

Chopper huffed in satisfaction and looked away, to watch Abigail join Sharn away from the cart. "Don't blame me. Your fantasies are -your- problem."

Away from their playful bitching Abigail was disappointed to see the smile on Sharn's face fade as she saw that it was she and not Kyle coming to keep her company. Those eyes of hers fell to the ground, knowing that her lack of subtlety had got her caught. As the cart began to move off, Sharn began walking but not keeping pace. Abigail supposed that, if they were going to hash anything out, Sharn didn't want the others hearing it too clearly.

As they fell into step together Abigail gave her friend a hopeful smile, but one that didn't know whether to expect a happy response. "I guess I should have told Chopper to keep her mouth shut, but then again I don't think it would have done any good anyway."

Sharn nodded, looking a bit ashamed of herself, and a little relieved at the same time. "Probably not. No offence, Abby, but I'm not into the whole girl-girl thing, okay? I like guys, and I've already got a damn good one anyway, so..."

Abigail was surprised by the blunt tone of Sharn's voice, and had to interrupt, because it sounded like she was getting herself worked up over the situation. "Hey, wait a minute! I know!" She tried to give Sharn a reassuring look, even though she was hurt by the conclusions Sharn seemed to be jumping to. "I mean, it's obvious. It's not as though you hide how physical you two are. I do like girls, but that doesn't mean I'm going to try and seduce you."

Sharn didn't look so sure. "Chopper said you wanted to. And I'm sorry, but I'm not interested."

Abigail looked away, down to the sand. "Yes. I like you. And I also know that Kyle would probably blow my head of if I tried anything. And anyway, if I did want to be with anyone, I would want them to be interested in me too, you know? This doesn't change anything. You're still the best friend I have, now. You don't behave differently around Chopper. And she doesn't try to seduce you, does she?"

"That's because I don't -like- her!" Sharn countered. "I just got used to her. I do like -you-, Abby, but that doesn't mean I want to fuck you. And she did try once. I didn't like that one bit, and I made sure she didn't either."

Abigail shook her head. "Ugh. That's just her, Sharn. Honest. I just want my friend, because you're all I have now. I don't have my vault, or my family, or my job... There's not even any God to keep me going. Maybe there never was. So please don't leave me alone, okay?"

Sharn took far too long to answer, but when she did finally speak it lifted Abigail's worried heart, even though Sharn still did not look her in the eye. "I'm not going to leave you. I wanted you to turn out right. I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay out here. But if you were a guy, I wouldn't have been so... You know, close. I didn't know you were gay."

"I'm still a girl too," Abigail replied. "I can be close to other girls. It doesn't matter if I fancy them or not. I never thought you were coming on to me or anything. Hell, that's what I'm used to. The only girl who's ever shown any interest in me like that is Chopper, and that's not going to happen. So, please don't worry about me. I'm not going to do anything weird, even if I get a bit jealous of Kyle sometimes."

Sharn nodded, but still had that reserved look in her eyes. "Maybe, but I still don't get it. I never have, with Chopper or any of them. It's just weird for me."

Abigail should have expected it really, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. "Sorry. There's nothing I can do about that."

Sharn nodded, similarly quiet. "Yeah. I guess it was easier with Chopper, because I didn't want to give her a hug when I told her that. I had to punch her instead."

Abigail knew there wasn't much more to explain in their situation. They both knew what each other was saying. It just happened not to slot together in the way their friendship had before. She took Sharn's arm and pulled herself to the wild haired young woman, stopping her in her tracks and holding her for comfort.

"What? Abby..."

Abigail just held her, wanting to prove her point. "See? It's not sexual. It won't be, I promise. It just means that I'm not alone, even though I feel so small and lost when there's so much empty space around me. There's nothing out there, and nothing but the sun and empty space above us. Don't you ever feel lost out here too?"

Slowly, and to Abigail's relief, Sharn put her arms around her too. "It's just desert, Abby-girl. Everything's out there somewhere. Why else would we keep searching for it all!"

---

As the day wore on and the sun drew higher, Abigail's light skin covered by her cloak, she found that hanging back to walk with Sharn gave rise to another unpleasant experience. One that she had thankfully avoided for the most part, back at Vault 42.

Sharn noticed her discomfort. "Yeah, it kind of reeks, what with the bodies and the sun and all."

Lyster, riding in the empty foot or so of space in the back of that stinking cart, had little sympathy for them. None, in fact; "Why don't you hop up here and get a proper sniff of it," he sneered, looking sorry for himself.

Abigail looked at him with a little worry, but Sharn took her hand and pulled her up towards the first cart, and away from the smell. "Ignore him, Abby. If he doesn't like it he can walk. He got a bullet in his shoulder, not his foot. It's the dead I'm more worried about. It just doesn't seem right not burying them, you know?"

In all honesty, Abigail didn't know. She understood the religious significance, but underground the dead had always been cremated at their funerals. Burning them was both respectful and it eliminated the risk of disease spreading in their enclosed vault system. "Won't they get buried or cremated when we get back?"

"Sure they will," Sharn told her, "but that's not where they died. They won't be able to rest easily like that."

How could they not rest easily, Abigail wondered. They were dead. They couldn't do anything but rest. Except decompose. She frowned at herself for the thought. That was the kind of remark Chopper would have made. "How do you mean?"

Sharn gave her a smile. One not as vibrant as those she had worn before, but she was trying. "I guess you don't believe in spirits either. I don't believe in any God - like you said, how can you out here? - but our ancestors are out there. And the people who were killed yesterday." Her smile became a little brighter. "If you want something to believe in instead of God, you could do worse than believe in your family."

"Sharn, they're dead. They aren't coming back."

"Of course not," the wasteland girl agreed. "But you have their hopes to fulfil. What's there to say they aren't watching you now from wherever they are. I've been a wastelander for years now, but I think I'll still believe the spirits are watching me until the day I join them."

Abigail was sceptical. "Is that what passes for religion up here?"

"Sometimes. Chopper and Rathley think it's all bullshit, but they don't believe in anything but themselves."

"And Kyle?"

Sharn shrugged. "He puts up with hearing it. He knows there's still a bit of the village left in me."

Abigail's curiosity was piqued. "The 'village'?"

"Yeah. My home. It's a tribal village, up north east. Mom was a tribal girl, and Dad was a Scav who decided to stay for a while and put down some roots. I grew up there, until Dad decided he wanted his girl to grow up civilised."

"He took you away?"

Sharn shook her head. "We just left. I was young enough that I thought it was be great to explore, and Mom just waved us off. I never thought that would be the last time I saw her."

Abigail felt guilty for asking, after that. "Oh, sorry. What happened?"

"She found another man in the village, and died in childbirth. That happens more with tribal people. They don't usually have medical books like yours to help them out." Her smile had turned wistful. "I wonder what my little brother would have been like. I always liked babies."

"Don't we all," Abigail agreed. It surprised her that Sharn didn't really seem upset about it, but that was something to be glad about.

However, Sharn looked at her with confusion after hearing her agree. "You do? But if you don't sleep with men how can you have children?"

That was a stupid question, Abigail thought, right up until she realised she now lived in a run down desert and not in her vault. "Well, I could adopt, I guess. I'm sure there are kids out here who need help. And I guess maybe you could find someone who still knew how to do geno-ovulatory insemination, if there are any other vaults still working. I know we had the procedure theory in our medical databanks in Vault 42. I downloaded it to my PipBoy. I never did ask if anyone would be able to do it though."

It was then that Abigail noticed the way Sharn was staring at her.

"What?"

"You know, Abby-girl, you vault types make the rest of us look like the tribals, because I have no idea what any of that meant."

Abigail waved it off. "It doesn't matter anyway. I'd need to find all the right equipment, or someone with the right training. And a girlfriend, for that matter, so it's not like it's important." She put the idea out of her mind.

"So, if you were a tribal, does that explain the hair?" She put her hands up, to illustrate Sharn's toffee coloured mane.

"My hair? What do you mean?"

Abigail giggled. "Never mind."

---

"Mom? Dad?"

Abigail trembled, afraid. "I'm... I'm sorry, but I'm..."

They still wouldn't turn to look at her. They just stood, staring at their bunk. Why wouldn't they turn to her? How could she admit the truth if they could not see how much she regretted it?

"I'm..."

A whisper took away her voice. It filled the air until it was saturated with the tuneless voice. "Sinnerrrr..."

Abigail spun on her heels, to see the dim vault corridors reach out into eternity beyond their bunkroom doorway.

"Murdererrrr..."

"No!" Abigail screamed into the yawning tunnel. "That's not..."

"Traitorous Jinx!" Alfred Parker spat. He held the lapels of Abigail's leather jacket so tightly and so close that Abigail felt the blood on his accusing lips spatter against her face.

Abigail swallowed down her sudden surge of annoyance. Why did he always have to be like that? "Oh for fuck's sake, give it a rest Alfy! It's not my fault you screwed up." She was not about to let him get her riled up yet again.

"You infected me," Alfred whispered, blood trailing from the pool in his mouth. "You infected all of us, Jinx!"

"Why should it be my fault?" Abigail said in retort. But now she felt much less assured of herself, because of the crowd around them. "You're dead."

And from behind Alfred Overseer Jameson stepped forward, and his Vault stepped with him. "Aren't we all..?"

How true that was. "I'm not..."

"And why should we suffer for the sake of your luck?" Matthew Langdon burbled. His torn right shoulder slid stickily from his body. Abigail was glad she wouldn't have the clean that up, but the weight of the dead surrounding her was intimidating now. Her people were turning on her, and that frightened her.

Then Sharn came, knocking the massacred young man to the ground with one deft punch. "Screw off, ghoul." Before Abigail could say anything Sharn - no it was Chopper - had pulled her sub-machine gun from her belt and filled the corpse-man with too much lead. And then she shot it again, just for good measure. "Careful Abby," Chopper said, "you never know when these guys really are dead or are just playing."

Abigail could only stare at Matthew's perforated form. "But... But he was..."

"What, Abby-girl?" Sharn asked, taking Abigail's shoulder and showing her the sandy battlefield around them. "They were just ghouls."

Oh, Abigail thought, that was good. They were just ghouls. Just ghouls, until poor Christian reached his arm up from where he lay, crawling stiffly over the bludgeoned body of Abigail's own very special Diamond. "Abby? I thought we was friends, girl."

Standing over them, looking down in such horrible disappointment as Abigail knelt to take Christian's tattered hand, was Marcus. "What have you done, Abigail? Is this what you wanted to be?"

"No! Not you too!" Abigail wept bitterly cradling Christian-come-Sharn's bullet ridden body. "I never wanted this! Never!"

She clutched Sharn's lifeless head to her breast, inwardly cursing the hard and unforgiving surface. And a voice reached out from the corpse cart.

"Hey, at least you're not dead," Alice Littlehand said, staring lifelessly at Abigail's grief. Somehow, those words comforted her, and gave her courage as she faced her parents' backs.

"Mom? Dad?" Abigail trembled, afraid. "I'm sorry, but I'm... I killed someone. And I think I might kill a lot more."

And still they would not turn to face her. Abigail began to cry, silently, as she stared at their unmoving backs. Of course they would not turn. They already knew.

And then the dream-tension shattered, much in the same way a pane of glass would when struck by an eighteen wheel truck. "Hey, Abby, what's up!? Crazy dreams you're having!"

Abigail blinked as the world re-aligned itself around her, leaving them sitting on their favourite vault library settee. "Oh, right. Thank god for that. That was really panic-making."

"Eh, it makes a change," Gillian said, shrugging her shoulders. "I would have thought you'd be sick of all this lucid dreaming stuff by now."

Abigail grinned and sat back, feeling her tremulous heartbeat slow back down. "Not if it means I can be with you."

"Oi, down girl," Gillian warned. "I'm part of the lucid bit, okay? No lezzy shenanigans tonight."

Abigail made herself sag theatrically. "Aw, shame. I always make out that you're so good in bed too."

"Not that you'd know."

"Not that'd you'd know either," Abigail countered.

Gillian nodded, and sighed. "Well, it wasn't like I'd planned to die a virgin, you know?"

"Me neither."

"Hey, you're the one that's not dead."

Abigail nodded, "But it's only a matter of time." She frowned. "And I don't want to see Sharn dead either. That wasn't nice."

"It serves her right for making you dream like that."

Abigail had to agree with the Gillian image. "Yeah. I guess my family spirits don't like me very much, do they?"

Gillian obviously didn't agree. "Hey, it's your head. Who doesn't like who now, when you're the only one here?"

And Abigail was alone on the sofa. "Yeah. That's the reason, Chopper. I don't want to be responsible for what I'm turning into."

And then, just as naturally as she had disappeared, Gillian sat back with her, holding her hand. "Not what. Just who. And don't you think I'd be glad you've survived?"

"Are you? Glad that I survived, when you all died?"

Gillian smiled, helplessly. "I will be glad if you let me. I'm your dream, after all."

Abigail had forgotten that. "I guess I'm allowed to indulge myself that much, aren't I?"

Gillian grinned. "Why the hell not?"

And then, to Abigail's greatest relief, Gillian was glad.

---

Abigail found herself looking back to the corpse cart once their little caravan was moving again. Hauling the bodies onto it had sickened her, but as this day and a half of return travel had passed that intestinal outrage had passed. Surface life was very practical in its outlook, or so it seemed. You believed whatever was required to keep yourself going. It didn't matter what it was. Sharn had her ancestral spirits, Chopper had her medical science, and according to Bason one of the weedier towns to the east had The First Church of the Molerat to keep them sane.

"Though what kind of sanity they get out of worshipping those oversized rodents beats me," he said, as an afterthought.

"And why would the Brotherhood worship their own technology?" Kyle added. "None of that stuff ever makes any sense." He gave Sharn a slow, placating smile. "Not unless you're the one that believes it, anyway."

"So what does he believe in then?" Abigail asked, absently, as she watched the reticent Merc Seb driving the corpse cart. Lyster was sitting somewhere among the stinking bodies too.

"Who knows?" Kirren replied. Her head lolled over the edge of the cart in boredom. "Who cares?"

"I cared," Abigail said. "I used to think I didn't believe in God, because I always skipped out on chapel, and never said my prayers."

"What, so you did believe, but thought you didn't?" Sharn asked.

Abigail nodded. "I thought I didn't, right up until I realised that he really wasn't there. I had believed all along, I just hadn't been... observing, I guess."

"And what's changed?" Rathley asked. "Nothing. So you left your god in your vault. He can keep Sharn's spirits happy down there."

Chopper turned another page of Abigail's medical book. Brain trauma, and what it means for you, and you, and you, the colourful text proclaimed. "You seem awfully philosophical this morning, for someone staring at bodies instead of the town."

She pointed off ahead of them, and true enough Corva was well in sight. But, while the enormous expanse around her never seemed to grow old, Abigail found that she couldn't quite work up the enthusiasm to be seeing the town again this time. "I guess I just feel sorry for them. Their lives were sold pretty cheaply."

Several of the others looked up to Lilis and Old Bert, sitting up with the remaining caravan driver. Abigail hadn't meant it personally this time though, at least not much. Lilis seemed to hear as much, and replied with the same quiet reverence. "If you knew what it was their lives had bought, you wouldn't think so little of their value."

"So what have they got us?" Bason asked. Walking alongside his friend in the cart, Jassic parroted the question.

"Yeah, are the Hearts gunnin' for Corva again or what? It's not like they could take us without getting' wiped out."

"You'll hear the details when Mayor Golway decides to share them. I'm just the messenger he hired."

"What, you can't even give us a hint?" Rathley said with a grin, but Lilis ignored him. That ended the debate as far as most of them were concerned, Abigail among them.

"Hey, Stephanie," Abigail said, finally taking her eyes off the corpses, and planting them on the girl who walked on her own side of the cart, "when we get back, do you want an extra pair of hands to help you out?"

The gunsmith pulled her straw hat back on her head, so she could look up at Abigail. To her, the vault girl looked oddly unconcerned one way or the other, but maybe that was just the black leather and the shades talking. "Well, no offence, Abby, but you don't know much about guns, do you? Though if you want to try and help me find some buyers..?"

Fair enough, Abigail though. "Maybe. I guess you're right."

"You're not sticking around with them lot?" Stephanie asked. Sharn had a similar question ready on her own lips, and both Kyle and Chopper were at least listening in.

"Well, yeah, but I have to find something to do," Abigail replied. "I guess the Mayor isn't just going to hire us all up again as soon as we get back. He's going to be planning and talking to people, if what the Hearts have planned is that bad, right?"

"Right," Kirren agreed. "I guess it'll be a day or so before he actually tells everyone they're all fucked."

"But," Bason added, "Golway likes to keep help on if they work out for him. That's why Jassic and me have stuck around. He's done good by us before, so he'll hire us on again no questions asked, if we're up for it. When he does let the rat out of the bag, he won't turn you down if you want in."

Abigail frowned. She wasn't sure she wanted to go on another of the mayor's missions. "He planned to kill off his own policemen."

"True," Rathley agreed, "but you heard Lilis. He paid 'em to behave, but they were still scum. And if you want somethin' to do in the mean time, just play nurse for Chopper or somethin'. That's was the whole point of coming along on this crapshoot in the first place."

"Eh?" Jassic asked from alongside. "They're lettin' you practice again for this? Fuck me, this town ain't what it used to be."

Several of the others had similarly surprised looks on their faces, with or without Jassic's level of disgust. "That was the deal," Chopper told them, looking completely unfazed. "I put myself on the line for this job, plus whatever happens with the Hearts, and I get to work again."

"About time too," Kyle said. He appreciated Chopper's upturn in fortunes, but Abigail could see that he was one of the few who did. On the other hand, this was something Abigail hadn't been told.

"Wait, you have to go and deal with the Hearts as well, after this?" She was even shocked that Rathley, and certainly Chopper, would have agreed to something as reckless as that. "But who knows what you might have to do! It could be a -real- suicide job!"

Chopper shrugged, "Maybe, but I doubt it. Gerald Golway isn't that kind of man. He's an uptight ass, but unlike some of his men he has morals."

"Morals like killing Nathanial as part of a bargain?!"

Chopper nodded, smirking. "Better thank him for sending his lackeys to take most of the bullets for us, eh?"

Abigail cursed herself and Chopper for that. "Damn it. And what about you, Sharn? Kyle? Are you going too?"

Kyle nodded, his own much more trustworthy grin showing off his broken tooth. "Yep. Us four, we've got a good thing going here. It'd be a shame to break it up now."

Sharn nodded, giving Abigail a hopeful smile. "So, you want to make it us five, maybe? You're doing good, you know?"

Abigail appreciated the offer more than she could say, but she could see the lingering distance that had grown between Sharn and herself, and it made her hesitate. "Are you sure you want me along?"

"Well, only if you want to come," Sharn said, mirroring Abigail's uncertainty about the trust between them.

Chopper sighed. "Oh, for fucks sake! You know you're coming," she said to Abigail, before rounding on Sharn, "and -you- know she wants to, so stop with all the bloody maybes and if-you-don't-minds. It's not like you'd let yourselves screw each other anyway, so get over it. I liked you better when you were both oblivious."

Kirren chuckled from her seat at the back. "A little frustrated, Chopper?"

Chopper buried her annoyance - and was that a little embarrassment? - in the medical text. "Don't. You haven't had to put up with them the whole week."

Abigail just smiled though, as did Sharn. That was settled then. The less fuss they had to make, the better. At least this way no-one would have to worry about anyone else, because whatever the Mayor sent them into, they would all be in that mess together. Abigail did need to find her own path in life now, but right now that path was the one with the people she had come to call friends. Even if some of them still had a long way to go, she thought, looking at Chopper and Rathley.

---

There was no greeting party to meet them on their return to Corva, to Abigail's surprise. There had only been a small crowd to see them off as well, but people had at least expressed an interest in the caravan and in what their party of mercenaries was expected to do. Coming back however was almost an overly efficient affair by comparison. Lilis and her brahmin driver, and Seb, leaped down from their seats before the carts had come to a stop, and each brahmin had been guided through the gates and into the town by their own pair of farm handlers.

Similarly most of their troupe left the cart to walk into town, with only Chopper and Lyster content to remain seated. The others, Abigail included, had an image to maintain. What would it have looked like for the conquering heroes to return lounging around in the back of the cart like that?

Except that so little fuss was made Abigail wondered why they all bothered. A few of them were greeted as they all made their way to the assembly point beside the police station, but only by people they were obviously friendly with already. The cart laid out with seven dead bodies got more attention. And even that alternated between disgust at the smell and a sense of "Oh, another lot copped it out there? Poor buggers."

It was far less than any of them deserved, the corpses included, in Abigail's opinion. "We don't even get a 'thank you' for risking our lives for these people?" she asked, both annoyed and depressed at the fact.

Rathley and the others seemed to understand it. "That's sweet, Sugar, but we've been gone three days. Most of 'em forgot about us the moment we were outta sight. And those that didn't knew less than us about what we were gonna have to do, and we didn't know shit to start with."

"It doesn't exactly make a girl feel appreciated, since she might have been killed," Abigail groused.

"How d'you think they feel?" Jassic asked in response, poking a thumb at the corpse cart as it was led around the side of the building. "You don't turn Merc for appreciation. You do it for the caps and the badass rep."

"A rep that, incidentally Sugar, you're gonna blow if you keep talkin' like that," Rathley added, though he seemed as amused by Abigail's reaction as anything else.

"It sucks," Sharn agreed with her. "But at least we did the right thing, if you want to think of it like that."

Coming from Sharn that actually helped.

They were met by Mayor Golway in short order, who lead them inside to the entrance hall that once again had enough old chairs put out to seat any who wanted them. For the most part however, the mercenaries just wanted whatever share of the extra loot was theirs.

"The valuables are being tallied as we speak," the Mayor said to the restless lot. "As usual, don't bother asking about their clothes, but if you have any other preferences then speak up."

Kirren made her preferences for exploring equipment known, while Jassic and Old Bert argued over who had the most right to any shotgun shells, if there were any. Even though she had asked to be paid in rifle ammunition up front, Sharn put her vote in for more, since the dead spotters had both been armed with sniper rifles. She also said she'd have one of them instead if her share would cover it.

"I know I really don't want to ask this," Abigail said, feeling dirty for even entertaining the thought, "but why would anyone want to claim their clothes?"

For Kyle it was a valid question. "That's the town's share. Any usable clothing get put towards the poor fund."

"Then why was I given those leathers?" Abigail asked, suddenly confused. It was a much better and more honourable answer than she could have guessed, but the information didn't quite measure up to her own experience.

"Because walking around looking like a raider is a Bad Idea," Kyle replied. Abigail could hear the capitalisation in those words, and it sounded as though it should have been followed by the ever present Vault 42 idiom: '- trademark of BadIdeas incorporated, a subsidiary of Vault-Tec industries.'

"That's why you've got to strip the gold out of Diamond stuff before anyone in their right mind wears it. Because if you don't it might get them shot."

Abigail wasn't sure how reassured that was meant to make her. She was, she realised, wearing Diamond leathers. Even if the jewellery was gone, is still left her vaguely uncomfortable. But then, she had turned it into her image now, with the shades and her blue jumpsuit showing where the leg and sleeve were missing. "Well... as long as it doesn't make anyone shoot -me-."

"After the way you were greeted at the steak house," Chopper laughed, "that would depend on how loosely you mean 'shoot'."

Unfortunately for Sharn the sniper rifles were not considered part of the loot, since they had been provided by the Mayor's policing budget and not by the spotters themselves. It wasn't a surprise, such high precision weapons were worth more than any normal farm man could ever expect to save up, and as such the overall payout was much lower than some had hoped, but it still made for over a thousand caps per Merc for the whole job, which Abigail took once again in actual bottle caps. But together, it made her mind boggle. Her cap wealth was vast now, or had she overvalued the things to begin with.

Stephanie was the only other one to take her entire pay in bottle caps, and despite the chill in the air between them - over knowing that the other held secrets that could go a long way to ruin them - Stephanie evidently saw it as something to build a little camaraderie on.

"It's one hell of a float, it's it? Just listen to that rattle!" She shook her bag to emphasise it. That was the sound of a thousand bottle caps.

Abigail didn't know how she would ever spend it all. Her leathers, in their bartering, had only cost her a little over two hundred, and Sharn had told her to consider a trade like that as an investment. That was the value of the old, bloodstained ones she had traded in, along with some of the jewellery.

"So do you have plans for it?" Abigail asked, hoping that Stephanie would give her some indication as to what all that cash -should- be used for.

Stephanie just chuckled. "Are you kidding? This is going to feed me for months! Who cares how long it takes to sell my new guns now? And when I do," she added, conspiratorially, "I can just put that profit straight into more materials. A word of advice Abby: if you really can do machines, take a risk like this and it'll set you up for five years, easily. Get out and set up a shop for yourself, because those two," she pointed to Chopper and Rathley, still collecting their loot, "they are only going to get you killed, or worse."

Abigail looked over to the pair, and thought that Stephanie was being rather unfair. Rathley she could understand. He was an amoral and inconsiderate asshole, and he -had- got her wounded in setting her up against the pigrat. But he had, in his own way, been trying to set her up right for surface life, and while she didn't appreciate his way of doing it, she was glad that he hadn't been as criminal as he had first seemed.

And Chopper, while also antisocial, seemed to be more misunderstood than dangerous. Surely it was one of her few true virtues if she was willing to take on patients who were just as likely not to survive anyway. Being a doctor who disliked people, or saw them only as a source of amusement, was aberrant but not damning. It was strange, Abigail thought, that the people she liked least in their group were the one who had made sure she had been found in the desert, and the one who had kept her alive out there.

Then, from behind the two of them, a quiet and demure but very un-amused voice joined their private conversation. "I would consider that suggestion seriously, Miss Abigail. Leave them behind, because you can only come to regret entertaining their company."

Both women turned suddenly to see Erin standing there regarding the two wanderers in question, before she turned her attention to the scandalised Stephanie.

"Erin! This was private!" she hissed. "You know what will happen to me if people find out I can't..."

Erin cut her off. "Steph, I am not about to spread your secrets. We are friends enough for that, I hope."

Stephanie did calm herself after a moment of outrage. "Yes, of course we are. Though you've never listened in on me before."

The younger girl gave her a smile. "True enough. Would you mind if I spoke with Abigail a moment?"

"No, go ahead. I'll see you both later."

Left to themselves, Abigail could see that Erin was going to speak more freely, and thought that her intrusiveness didn't match her appearance very well. As she had already seen, and as Christian had said, Erin was a pale girl, and prettier than any other surfacer Abigail had seen. She would have been pretty even by the standards in Vault 42. She looked like the frail and timid girls from the vault cinema, except that Erin was not timid. Her thin, sculpted face and clear green eyes held a strength that her young physique did not, and the bobbed black hair around her cheeks only confirmed that severity. Chopper had called her weak, but Abigail did not hear any weakness in the girl's voice.

"You do not look convinced," Erin said, "but Rathley is dangerous. If I was told that he had mistreated you I would not hesitate to believe it. And for all the value my father can see in his skills, the worst ally to have is one who makes enemies as easily as that man does."

Abigail didn't like the certainty in Erin's tone, but at the same time she could not deny that it was probably true. "Maybe. I never said I liked him. I know I wouldn't trust him if Sharn and Kyle and Chopper didn't."

Erin seemed satisfied by that answer, and got straight to the other point. "Are you Chopper's new lover?"

Even knowing their past, the question still surprised Abigail. "What? No. No, I'm not."

Erin wasn't convinced. "I was told by some of the other mercenaries that you are also only lesbian. I am warning you now, I intend to win back her love, in any way possible."

"'Only' lesbian? What's that supposed to mean? And I told you, I'm not interested in her. I don't know why -you- would be."

"Oh Abby," Chopper sung as her group came over to join them, "it's not nice to talk like that behind people's backs. Really," she said, laying it on thickly, and grinning all the while. "I'm hurt."

Erin looked annoyed at the fun Chopper was poking at them both, and at the implication of any relationship with Abigail. "What I mean," Erin said to Abigail, "is that you are only lesbian. You don't choose to be so when it is convenient, like so many other women do."

"Now, now," Chopper chastised lightly, "surely that's not fair on the poor bisexuals."

"I don't care about the fairness of it," Erin replied, softening her tone. "And please do not joke now, is Abigail really not your partner? Honestly?"

Chopper sighed under the weight of both Erin's and Abigail's eyes. It was obvious she would have loved to lie, or at least play with them both. "No. No, I am not fucking her."

Abigail was surprised just how relieved Erin looked to hear that.

"Thank you. You did not lie to me last time then. It was hard waiting for you this time, Chopper. And as soon as you get back, I have to hear that you might have found another partner after what you told me..."

Mayor Golway interrupted his daughter's relieved admission. "You have your payment, Butcher. If I'm going to let you work in my town, hadn't you better get to it?"

Erin's eyes never left Chopper's face as she replied. "We are talking father. At least let us finish our conversation, please."

Chopper quirked her eyebrow. "Erin, it's over, and if you keep this up your dad is going to shoot me."

"If he did I would shoot him myself."

Abigail was more concerned about the Mayor's own tone, rather than whatever he might have liked to do to the woman who had seduced his daughter. "Even if he hates you," she said to Chopper, "I can't believe he could keep calling you that."

"Call her what?" Sharn asked, seeing nothing wrong.

"You know. Butcher. He called her that last time too. That's just not right."

Then, to Abigail's surprise, Rathley and Sharn broke out in laughter, while Erin giggled and Kyle just smiled and shook his head.

"Hey, what?" Abigail asked, not liking that fact that she was the butt of the joke.

"That's her name, Abby-girl," Sharn answered, while Rathley just continued to laugh, slapping Chopper on the shoulder. "'Chopper' is the unpleasant nickname."

"Yeah, laugh it up, guys" Chopper said, riding out the joke with remarkable good humour in Abigail's opinion. "The surgeon is called Butcher. Yeah." She turned to Abigail. "Of the two, I'd rather keep the real one quiet and stick to the abuse, thanks."

"Oh, dear, you really didn't tell her?" Erin asked. "I guess I don't have anything to worry about after all. I still know you. All about you. And you do know me too, Chopper. I know where you would want to be right now, after the desert, if only you'll let me take you."

"Erin, no. We do know each other. Better than we should do. It was good, and now it's over." Rather than getting annoyed, she smiled. "Try taking Abigail there. You know she might be open to it. She might surprise you."

Erin wasn't going to accept that though. "I haven't broken our connection, and I know you haven't either! I told you, I know you. I know you better than you know yourself. I still love you, Marie, and I know I always will."

Erin's heartfelt plea stood in silence for a moment, before Rathley, Sharn and Kyle had the indecency to burst into laughter again.

"God, you serious?!" Rathley guffawed. "Marie?! HAhahahah!"

"I get it," Kyle said, catching his breath. "Butcher is your -surname-, right? Damn, I knew it was weird just being named after your dad like that."

Sharn apologised too, in between her giggles. "Sorry Chopper, but you really don't look like a 'Marie'!"

Chopper just stared at Erin, glad that they were the last ones in the hall besides the hawk-eyed Mayor. Her half-lidded gaze just dripped with sarcasm. "Thanks, Erin. I really needed that."

Abigail just tried to smile, and knew how awkward it had to look. "Well, I think it's pretty."

It was just too bad that that set Rathley off again.

---

In the following two days very little transpired about the information that Lilis had brought back to the town, and Abigail found that she had needed those few days of rest and recuperation more than she had known. When she wasn't being shot at she had spent the last three days either sitting in or walking with a brahmin drawn cart, but during that time she had probably been more keen and alert than she ever had during classes in Vault 42. She had imprinted every scrap of information about the raiders into her brain, or every bit that she could cram in anyway. She had studied, and even been somewhat initiated into, that strange subclass of wastelander society call the mercenary. She had read through her old, exhausting diaries, and plotted out the first routes and locations on her PipBoy's map. And she'd had the stress of Sharn, the one person she trusted most on the surface, finding out about her sexuality. Her and everyone else, if what Erin had told her was any indication.

All in all, it had been a tiring three days, neatly punctuated by an unpleasant note of murder and amoral deal making. She dreaded to think what life up there was going to be like when her period came around.

As such she took the chance to relax eagerly. The first day back she slept until well after sunup, eleven AM in her time, before setting out to explore the town again. She had a great deal of money to spend now, but naturally she did not really find anything that she truly wanted, now that she could have bought it without reservation. Her concept of ownership out of necessity rather than desire was simply too strong and ingrained after her rationed vault life. She bought herself some lunch, iguana-kebab, and a few burrow nuts just on a whim. She didn't even know what they were used for, but the curious attention it got her helped her pass the time. Townies, she decided, were a much more sedate lot than the Mercs or Scavs, but at the same time they were much less remarkable, as people. They might have been as harsh and crude as Jassic or Rathley, but they did not have their keen awareness or vibrancy. Abigail was saddened when she realised that she had come out of that little meet and greet at the market remembering very few of their names. Without seeing them in their element, like she had with the members of the Merc caravan, the faces seemed to blur together. Even in the vault that had never happened before, even though every one of them had worn the same identical uniform.

Perhaps the influx of new names and faces had simply overwhelmed her for now. Then again, in a similar surprise it was her victory against Jack of the Diamonds, and the pigrat fight, that people remembered her for. Not one of them mentioned the fact that she had just risked her life against the self same raiders at the gates of their own fortress home.

She felt a little bad, because when she reached a rather more rundown area of town, with an unpleasant smell about it, she was almost relieved to find that it was the ghoul quarter. Whatever else could be said about him, Christian's was an easy face to remember. And not because half of it was missing. He was a man who was interesting, for his history and his attitude if nothing else.

"Excuse me?" Abigail asked, stopping a old, half-dead woman as she shuffled stiffly down the street. "I'm looking for Christian? Does he... live around here?"

The woman was far less of a mess than Christian had been, but her sagging greenish skin was still a sight to make Abigail hesitant. At least none of her bones were showing, until she gave Abigail a wide, toothless grin which showed off her jawbones behind her rubbery lips. "Ohhh, Helloo Abbyyy. Yes," she said in a melodic but ponderous and ancient voice. "If what we doo is caalled living, then hee lives heere, thaat he does. Juust follow mee. Chriistiaan has toold us aall about youu, dear giirl."

The ghoul, Mona, slowly led Abigail to the worryingly signed 'Seven Feet Under'. It was a fairly large building compared to the others in the ghoul quarter, but still only one storey, and despite its clean clay walls the roof was little more than several large sheets of corrugated metal welded together.

"Thiis is the oonly place juust for uus ghouuls," the ancient woman Mona said. "Thiis toown is goood to uus. But sometiimes it is niice to bee with thoose who knoow you beest."

Abigail humoured the old ghoul with a smile. She could imagine that it was, if you actually had others who really did know you best. "Yes. Yes, it is. May I?"

Mona nodded slowly, and opened the door for them both. "Of couurse, deaar. You are aalwaays welcome heere."

Christian and his friends were the only ones there, the four of them taking up very little of a large table as they played with a worn and chipped set of genuine imitation ivory dominoes.

"Hi Christian," Abigail greeted as Mona slowly but eagerly led her over. "I thought I would come by and say hello."

"Abby, girl, now ain't that jus' the nicest surprise you could'a given us. Nigel, go and move your tumble-down old ass and let her sit."

Abigail was about to protest, but the ghoul Christian spoke to was already hauling himself out of the padded chair and moving his dominoes next to the others', while Mona offered her the seat. "Really, you don't have to..."

"Bah, don't have to! If we get a smooth skin pleasant enough to come visit us, we ain't gonna make her sit on no wooden stools!" Christian and his friends smiled, showing off what teeth they had left.

"Plhease," another of the female ghouls said, "whe are glahd to meet hyou at lhast, Habeegail. Whe have heard mahny good things habout hyou. Hy am Seelyuh."

Of all of them, in their various scarred and gory states, it was that woman Celia that Abigail felt sorrier for than any. She had flowing grey hair that ran down her back, but it was not thick enough to conceal the bones and dull muscles that showed behind her neck, and the skin was obviously missing for a good way down as well, since the ridges of her spine were far too prominent beneath the pale purple cloth of her dress. She was also missing her right arm. Her bicep emerged from her discoloured skin only to wither away to nothingness, leaving sinew and bare bone where her elbow joint should have started. But worst was her mouth. Unlike the others, who simply had strange and heavy accents that betrayed their extreme age, Celia came across as much younger, and her speech impediment seemed more man made. A large chunk of her tongue was missing down the left side, and her lips were torn and frayed. It was no doubt made worse since, while she still had most of her teeth, they were all broken into jagged looking shapes and sat at awkward angles in her gums, waiting to catch those abused lips as she spoke.

Yet it did not concern her one bit. Her eyes and words only spoke of earnest and almost innocent acceptance, laced with the hope that Abigail might respond in kind. She was obviously trying so hard, and it made Abigail want to weep.

While that afternoon was an emotional one for Abigail, simply because of who she spent it with, she came away feeling better about herself, and about Corva, than she ever had since leaving her vault. Even if they were, as a few of the Townies had put it, just ghouls.

---

"Hanging out with ghouls and disreputable medics... You're intent on making a weird image for yourself, aren't you Abby?"

Abigail just shrugged as she held the bandage that Chopper was winding around her patient's wrist. "They're nice people. The ghouls I mean, not you."

Chopper and Sharn, also playing medical assistant, laughed. Their farm girl patient also seemed both amused and a little bewildered. "Well, they're nice enough, but they -are- mutants. They're, you know, weird."

"Eh, that's okay," Chopper said as she finished fixing the wrap, and taped it to the girl's hand. "Vault dwellers are just as bad, aren't you Abby?"

"I suppose we'd have to be," Abigail said sarcastically. "I'm spending all morning with you."

Chopper manhandled the girl's wrist around, watching her face to see how much pain she was still in now that it was bound up and otherwise immobile. Abigail could see that Sharn was itching to take over there, but they were both playing student, and Chopper had already told them once that they should be paying attention rather than feeling sorry for the poor fools who came to her.

"Yeah, that should be fine in a couple of days." Chopper advised as she let the girl go. "Just stay away from the manual labour until you can move it all the way around without it twingeing. Also put something cold on it for half an hour or so, morning and evening, that should help the swelling. And stay out from under the brahmin hooves next time, or it might end up broken after all."

As the farm girl thanked her and paid out her caps, Abigail had to ask. "No offence to Dr Chopper here, but why put up with her brutality just for a sprained wrist when you could go to the town doctor instead?"

"Well, I thought I might have torn something?" the girl said. "I never had a sprain hurt or swell up like that before. And, uh, the town doc's a man, and it's nice to know the person poking you knows how women feel."

"Yeah, she knows how women feel alright," Sharn said, not in the least convinced. "Years of practice by palpation."

"Palpation?" Abigail asked. That was the first hole in her vocabulary that Sharn had ever found.

Sharn shrugged. "That's what Kyle said. You know..."

She made a groping motion in the air, to which Chopper nodded, leering slightly.

"Tactile examination," she explained.

The girl blushed and nodded, "Yeah, well, at least you're not a guy, you know?"

Honestly Abigail would have preferred being treated by a man rather than Chopper on occasion. Her last eye opening examination had been far too invasive for her liking.

"So," Chopper said to Abigail as the girl left, "how's the leg? You weren't limping at the Diamond Ring."

Abigail nodded. "My shin aches, but that's it. It stopped hurting pretty quickly. My foot was fine, thanks to that stimpak."

"Right," Chopper said, lifting her scalpel and a pair of tweezers from her medical tin, "roll your leg up then. It's about time I taught Sharn how to remove stitches."

"Shouldn't we..." Abigail started, but looking around she could see that there wasn't a queue of eager and waiting invalids that required their attention. "Alright."

She did as she was told, putting her foot up on Chopper's knee where the doctor sat, and she closed her eyes. This she didn't want to see.

"So, obviously you want to check if the wound is properly sealed."

Abigail felt Chopper prodding and teasing the scar that was forming.

"Then just treat the stitch like it was in any other material. And for god's sake pull it from the knotted end."

Pull she did, and to Abigail it felt unpleasantly like an obstinate worm was being pried out of her leg. "Oh god, that's so gross," she said, keeping her eyes shut tight.

Chopper ignored her. "Don't worry if it pulls or bleeds. The skin has healed around it, so it might not want to let go too easily at first. That's also why you should mind what use to sew her up with. It's less likely to stick itself into the flesh with this."

Three removed stitches later Abigail was more than happy to put her tingling scar away when their next patient appeared, red faced and anxious.

"So," Chopper said, the absolute image of professionalism. "What's up?"

"I... uh, I think I might be pregnant," the blushing woman said quietly.

"And..." Chopper had to venture, "you want to get rid of it?"

"What? No!" The girl exclaimed, before quieting down again, "I just, you know..."

She leaned over the table and whispered something into Chopper's ear, to which she doctor just shook her head.

"Heh, right. Take off the trousers and underwear, and hop up on here."

The girl just stared at her. "You mean... out here?"

Sharn and Abigail could see the point. Their practice was just Chopper sitting on a stool behind her blood stained examination table, by the side of the street outside the inn.

"Well, we can take it inside if you -really- want to."

"Come on," Sharn said to the girl, allaying her fears, "we'll go up to our room. Won't we, Chopper?"

"Like I said, if you really want."

---

Abigail decided to leave Chopper and Sharn to it for the afternoon. She was surprised how much basic first aid the pair had managed to teach her between them, along with the few but varied patients that sought them out. However, Sharn seemed to have far more interest in learning than Abigail could conjure up for the day.

Instead she decided to take a closer look at the less residential half of the town, but no sooner had she chosen a place for lunch she found herself being made a very surprising offer. Erin intended to provide a meal for them both, and had sent out a member of the town police to track her down once Erin had no longer seen Abigail with Chopper from her second floor room on Main Street.

"So you were spying on me?" Abigail asked as she was served with a light and aromatic soup, sharing a table with the young Mayor's daughter at her home.

"There are only three buildings on Main Street that have two floors," Erin said, as if nothing was amiss. "Our house is one of them, so I have a good view of the entire road. You were a difficult trio to miss, giving out medicine in the open like that, and away from Market Street."

"So," Abigail said, satisfied for the moment. "Why am I here then? You could have invited Chopper."

"She would not have accepted," Erin said simply. "And while I have no intention of replacing her with you, I have been much lonelier since she decided she was no longer interested in me."

Abigail's caution was dispelled by that admission. "I'm sorry to hear it."

Erin gave her a wan smile. "I am sorry it ever had to happen this way. I was easily swept up by her charm and spirit and wit."

"You do know that she is inconsiderate, and rather cruel at times, don't you?"

Erin nodded. "Yes. I know all too well. I do not love her because she is perfect. I love her because she made me feel as though -I- was perfect." She chuckled. "I'm sorry, I didn't bring you hear to hear my confessions."

"No," Abigail allowed, "it seems like you need to talk it out."

Erin looked grateful. "Thank you. It's not as though I can confide in my father. At first I thought he was the reason that Chopper left me, but I know better now."

"He didn't threaten her at all? He certainly doesn't seem to like her."

"Oh, he threatened her alright," Erin said, "but Chopper did not care in the least. It was her adventurous spirit that took her away."

Abigail frowned. "I don't think I understand."

"Chopper is a wanderer," Erin explained. "Did you know she came here from the west coast, below the Cobalt Line? She needs to see new things, hear new stories." She shrugged helplessly. "Find new girlfriends. I think that maybe I am now simply too familiar to her. I have no more surprises, and no more layers for her to discover. Or perhaps she preferred me when I was more easily led, and did not know what I wanted from her."

"Is it that complicated?" Abigail asked. Chopper had told her why she had broken up with Erin, after all, and while she couldn't tell Erin that it was simply because she was weak, she could try and give the girl a more reasonable explanation. "I do think you're right. Chopper is a wanderer. And you're not. You want her to stay here, and she wants you to leave with her, maybe?"

Erin looked as though she could accept that suggestion, but it didn't do anything to lift her spirits. "Yes, I wanted her to stay here with me. But I would not object too much when she left to work in another town, or when she was hired by your scavenger friends. I waited patiently, worrying for her life every time she was gone, and when she returned I would be so relieved I could not bring myself to leave her alone for days.

"But she never asked me to join her out there. I could not have gone, but the offer was never made. I thought she was happy to have me waiting and agonising about her return. I thought that she enjoyed knowing that I was hung on tenterhooks while she repaired her friends in the desert and rooted around for trinkets or technology. She never told me that what I was doing was wrong for her."

"You didn't tell her that you didn't like what she was doing either, did you?"

Erin was quiet a moment, her soup bowl now empty. "No. I tried not to do anything that might push her away from me."

"Even if she is a bitch sometimes," Abigail wondered, "maybe she was doing the same. I guess you'd know better than me, but it sounds like a hell of a lot to put up with."

"Yes, it was," Erin agreed. "But I still do not want to give her up for an easier life. I guess, with many other women behind her, I am not as important to her as that."

Abigail shrugged. She could sympathise, but she was the last person to be giving advice. "Maybe she's just being a bitch about it."

Erin gave her a subtly amused look. "Then you really don't have any sort of relationship with her, secret or otherwise."

"If you want to keep chasing her then I think you're a glutton for punishment, but I'm not going to get in the way!"

---

When the Mayor finally put up the call notice for mercenaries again, not one of those who had survived the attrition at the Diamond Ring failed to turn up. Even the abused weasel Lyster, who Chopper had needed to treat again for an infection stemming from riding on the corpse cart, returned. They wanted to know what their lives had almost been traded for.

Several others came as well, of course, though whether they would stay would be another matter. The Mayor regarded them all equally. If they were willing to put their lives on the line for his town, albeit for a profit, that was all he needed to ask of them.

He was flanked this time both by Lilis and by a new face. This young man, in his late twenties if Abigail had to guess, was rather square jawed and looked too serious, or possibly jar headed, to be taken seriously next to the laid back or quietly confident mercenaries. However, while his face was too blank, his gear spoke volumes. He was dressed head to toe in the same shapeless, vivid green armour that Kirren had worn on their mission; synthetic and allowing movement, but solid as a rock. And, unlike Kirren, the stiff armour covered his legs as well as his body, and he wore a helmet of it strapped to his head. And, sitting neatly in the large holster around his right thigh, was a very large, square-ish gun. It looked to be a shotgun, but bulkier and quite unlike the round barrelled variety the mercenaries had carried. Stephanie's had looked more threatening, but only because it had been so overtly designed for overkill. This man's weapon was a close second because it concealed its unknown power beneath more metal than should have been necessary.

"Given the show Jack made last week before his brains were blown out, you can all guess why you are here. The Hearts are apparently a threat to this town, and we need to remove that threat. Thankfully we have been able to get some information about the nature of this threat out of the Diamond King, so we know what we are up against.

"The Hearts are -not- gathering themselves together, at least not yet. As such we do not expect them to make a massed attack on any of the towns around here, and thankfully we won't have to return the favour."

"So what's the fucking problem chief?!" someone called out from the mercenary audience.

"The problem," Mayor Golway replied in irritation, "would be that one of their camps has found themselves a dangerous new recruit, and one that has the Diamonds scared enough to leave them well alone despite having lost several raiding parties to them already. He has apparently made their camp nigh-on unstoppable."

The hecklers spoke again, "What, it's the fucking Jokers or something?"

"-He-," Seb yelled back. "That's singular, idiot."

"This new recruit is a mutant of some kind. Lilis, if you will?"

The 'exclusive' prostitute nodded. "This is how the Diamond King described him. 'A huge monster man, like a Brotherhood of Steel fucker..."

The new face beside the mayor twitched.

"...in their fucking ten foot armour. Except he wasn't wearing any armour. He spoke like a dumb tribal..."

This time it was Sharn's turn to twitch.

"... but he could tear a man in half with his bare hands. Not that he needs to, since his machine gun could cut an entire caravan's guard to pieces in the blink of an eye, and then set fire to it. The rest of the Heart camp's party didn't have to do a thing.' This thing was, in the Diamond King's words, some sort of a 'super mutant'. Oh, and he's green to boot."

"What," called one man, "it's a fuckin' ghoul pumped up on buffout or somethin'? Ha!"

Abigail was far less amused. "That's them!" she shouted, leaping to her feet and drawing every pair of eyes in the room. She turned to her companions. They all remembered Abigail's description, and couldn't quite believe that they were hearing it again. If Abigail was right, Lilis wasn't giving the monster the credit it was due.

And Abigail glared at the woman, the anger roiling in her stomach. "Those are the bastards that murdered my vault!"

---

To be continued...

---

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2008


	7. Brute

After the Vault: Chapter 07

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

***

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 07

Brute

"Those are the bastards that murdered my vault!"

Silence filled the hall for a moment, but reactions to her outburst were more than mixed. An impressed whistle broke through, but that was followed by a dismissive laugh from Jassic on the other side of the hall.

"Hahaha! If *she* can deal with 'em we'll get this mutie, no problem."

Having travelled with Abigail already his words held some weight among those who had not, but just as many again were worried by the obvious scale of what Abigail had said, Kirren, Lyster and even Bason included. These monsters had penetrated a still sealed and operational *vault*, and left only one survivor.

For his part, Mayor Golway looked to be in the latter camp as he eyed Abigail. "Be quiet people! If you have anything to add, girl, then now is the time."

Lilis agreed, much more sympathetically. "We have been working on what the Diamond King told us, which as you heard isn't much. Anything you can tell us would be of use."

Abigail felt her rage fall out of the bottom of her stomach, only to be replaced by butterflies. "They... they just broke into our vault, and killed everyone."

Silence fell again, and Abigail knew that her answer had been inadequate, but before Golway or Lilis could prompt her Rathley spoke up from his corner seat. "Come on, Sugar. Details again, huh?"

"Their numbers? Strategy? Armament?" asked the heavily armed man, standing beside Golway and Lilis. His voice was pleasantly soft and concerned, in contrast to his bull-headed appearance. "Any *why* would they attack a vault? That was evidently suicide."

Abigail shook her head, trying to calm her sudden case of nerves as she spoke to the men and woman at the front. And she shook her head in vehement denial at the armed man's assumption. "They did enough, they killed everyone! I thought they were raiders, because I heard them say they wanted what we had inside. I survived because I got lucky, and because they were... they were dumb."

"How do you mean?" Lilis asked, looking genuinely curious, while the men wore blank and serious faces.

"I killed the last one because it let me sneak up behind it. Another sounded hurt, and killed itself. And their boss was mad, and wasted all its bullets, so I guess the rest of us just overwhelmed it."

"And how big was their squad?" the well armed man asked.

"Squad?" Abigail echoed. She hadn't even thought of them like that. "It was just four. Our security team killed the other one, before they died."

All three of the apparent officials were caught off guard by such a small number, and Golway's eyes bugged out slightly. "God."

That ripple of worry spread across the rest of the audience as well, quelling Jassic's optimism, and a few of the faces began to regard Abigail with something akin to awe.

"They also had to cross the Cobalt Line, if they found the girl's vault," Old Bert added darkly. "So these 'Super Mutants' must be hardy buggers. Kinda like ghouls pumped up on buffout, eh?"

The pitch black humour sank in quickly. The unknown heckler had said it in jest last time, but ghouls were well known for their toughness and their resistance to anything the wasteland could throw at them, be it starvation, radiation, or just hails of gunfire.

"And they just attacked your vault unprovoked?" Golway asked.

Abigail nodded. "Yes."

"Then we *do* have to eliminate it," the armed man said, and Golway slowly nodded, before he turned to the crowd.

"This was going to be a mission to persuade the Hearts that it was in their best interests to rein in their new member's camp, but given this new information we will have to deal with them more directly. We will have to discuss the details further, but in the mean time think about what you've heard today. While diplomacy would be preferred, you may have to shoot first and deal with unanswered question later, and needless to say, the risk may be very high."

"For those of you who don't do maths," Lilis added, "Abigail, how many were in you vault?"

"People? About six hundred and fifty?"

"That's about a hundred and sixty people killed for every super mutant taken down."

Mayor Golway let that sink in for a moment, before making his final announcement. "Also, given the level of threat that Diamond Jack implied, I took the liberty of asking for some assistance while we were contacting the Diamonds. This," he said, finally introducing the green armoured man at his side, "is Initiate Harris, from the Brotherhood of Steel. Given the severe nature of the warning Diamond Jack gave us, he was sent here to assess the situation on behalf of the Brotherhood."

Several whispers of "Holy shit!" and "Man, you're kidding," started circulating the room, while beside Abigail Chopper just closed her eyes and grimaced.

"Chopper?" Abigail asked, but the woman just shook her head.

Harris stepped forward, and gave a short bow. "After hearing of their recent increased danger to the region as a whole, I have been given full authority to uncover what level of threat the raiders known as the Hearts possess. I will be the eyes of the Brotherhood on this mission, so that we can see first hand what must be done about these so called 'Super Mutants'."

He looked to Abigail. "Especially now that we know there may be more than one of them, and that they passed right through the Cobalt Line to get here."

Within their little group, Sharn looked distinctly worried. "This... this is going to be bad, isn't it?"

Beside her, Chopper nodded. "Oh yes, it's *always* bad when *they* show up."

Abigail had the same unspoken answer, but for a very different reason. She needed to go now. The desire to confront this monstrous raider was overwhelming. She wanted revenge, no matter how emotionally pointless she knew it would be, and she wanted to make sure that those creatures could never do to Corva what they did to Vault 42.

But if she went, she wouldn't be coming back. She had been lucky once, and her record with lady luck would not allow her to escape again.

***

Sharn knocked on the door again. "Abby-girl? You're not still in bed are you? We're going to buy some lunch. Do you want to come? Abby-girl?"

Silence. Sharn knew she was in there, probably. Chopper had been playing doctor again in the street outside, so Sharn had been learning some first aid with her and she hadn't seen Abigail emerge all morning.

"I can pick you up something to eat? Iguana on a stick?"

She was only concerned - okay, not just concerned, she was worried - because Abigail had been so quiet and angry the evening before. She had not talked to any of them much, and had stormed off after yet another poorly advised joke from Rathley. In fact, Sharn had laughed along with him, as they all had, because the unpleasant old wastelander had been the only one of them who had managed to lighten the mood. Abigail just hadn't seen the encouragement in it.

Maybe the fact that her vault's combat abilities had been at the butt of it hadn't helped, but even so the mercenaries that would be going on this mission couldn't really be compared to a vault full of hydro farmers and scientists. They had a member of the *Brotherhood of Steel* going with them; they were bound to win, whether it came down to a fight or not. And it wasn't like they weren't all nervous. Maybe some of them would die. Sharn and Abigail and Kyle would just have to make sure it wasn't them.

Finally Sharn heard the belated reply through the door. "Sorry Sharn. I'm not hungry."

Sharn frowned. Since Abigail had eaten almost nothing in those first days after being found, that wouldn't do at all. Sharn had been more willing than Chopper to respect Abigail's need for privacy, but right then the only thing that stopped her entering was that nagging in the back of her head about Abigail's discomforting feelings towards her. Knowing that Abigail was attracted to her meant that Sharn didn't want to appear too familiar with her. The trouble was, where was the boundary? Before, either Sharn had liked someone, or she hadn't, and that had been it. She made sure she was close to those she liked, such and Kyle and Abigail, and made sure there was always a safe distance from those she didn't, like Rathley.

Now Abigail occupied that safe but uncertain ground that Chopper did. Sharn did not like Chopper, as a person. But she trusted her both as a doctor and fellow Scav. As such, Sharn had learned to allow Chopper into her personal space, both physically and emotionally, even if it made her wary and tense.

And now Sharn was trying to learn to keep Abigail out of it. Sharn did not want to imply that she might feel the same attraction that Abigail felt towards her, and yet the girl drew out a very strong sisterly and maternal instinct in her. She wanted to coddle and protect the girl, and she couldn't do that from a distance. It was difficult.

It was much the same charm that had first drawn Chopper's interest to her, Sharn guessed. Abigail was a very distracting person, so when she hadn't appeared all morning, none of them could simply leave her to it. Chopper had been all for dragging her out, but Rathley and Kyle had instead pulled the doctor away for a lunchtime drink while Sharn took the more sensitive approach.

"I'm coming in, okay?"

She took the silence that followed as acceptance.

Contrary to Chopper's disapproving expectations, Abigail was not still curled up beneath the sheets, but instead sitting cross legged atop them. She had, once again, spread her worldly wealth out on the bed, and only briefly looked up to Sharn before looking back down to her possessions, both her latest loot and what she had reclaimed from Sharn's locker at the town's three-man exploration company.

Compared to the normal townsfolk, Sharn guessed, it probably wasn't a bad haul.

"Hey Abby-girl," Sharn greeted, hopefully, "come on. If you don't eat you're going to waste away, and there's not much left of you as it is!"

Abigail gave her a weak smile, but that was it.

It wasn't enough by a long shot, and it only made Sharn worry more for the frail athlete. "You can't afford to go hungry around here, Abby. If this is about Rathley's joke, I'm sorry, okay? We didn't want to make you angry."

Abigail shook her head. "No. I'm alright now."

That was something. Sharn sat down at the other end of the bed. "So what's wrong?"

Abigail shrugged. "I just... can't believe it's going to happen again. It's sort of like a bad dream. You know, those ones where you can see what's coming, but you still walk right into it? Just the way you always do?"

Actually, Sharn didn't. "Umm, I don't really have nightmares like that. Do you think you're being given a prophecy?"

Abigail smiled again, her melancholy broken briefly by the moment of amusement. "No, not like that. Just an inevitability. Actually, when I do see that monster again, I think I'm going to wet myself."

Now it was Sharn's turn to be amused, if only by the inappropriate image, given what Abigail wore. "Hey, we'll all be scared. Even if those tough guys look like they're enjoying it, they only get that thrill because they might die because of the next stray bullet. That's why Rathley makes all those nasty jokes, right? If we were always serious about going up against raiders like this, we'd all be depressed all the time."

"No you wouldn't. I saw you fighting. As soon as those raiders started shooting, you were all business. You just, I don't know, dealt with it."

"Yeah, I ran under the cart and prayed to my grandparents that those bastards wouldn't be able to hit me behind the wheels! I haven't had to fight raiders without being safely hidden before. Molerats and radscorpions I'll fight in the open, but people with guns?" Sharn shook her head, smiling sympathetically. "I don't know how Kyle fights like that any more than you do. He just says you have to think fast and have confidence."

"Confidence? What if you die out there, Sharn? It took so many bullets to kill just one of those monsters."

Sharn was just as concerned, but shrugged off Abigail's worry for the girl's own sake. "Then if we have to, we sneak up on it and blow its head off. That's how you did it, right?"

Abigail nodded, looking uncertain or ill - Sharn couldn't tell which - and she picked up one of her knives in her hands. "Maybe I'll have to get a gun after all."

"Well, you can afford one," Sharn encouraged, motioning to Abigail's possessions. "But knives and spears, if you're throwing them, are just as useful as distractions and cover fire, even if you can't rely on them for a kill."

Abigail gave her a questioning look, to which Sharn grinned.

"I'm a traditional girl, remember? I like spears and things too. Nothing scares a guy more than seeing a spear flying in out of nowhere when he thinks he's got himself covered!"

Abigail didn't seem to have an answer to that. "Yeah, maybe. But I don't want you to come this time Sharn."

Sharn was surprised by the sudden request, and more so by the tone in Abigail's voice. She leaned across the bed to look Abigail in the eyes. "You can't say that when you sound like you've made up your mind to go, Abby-girl. I'm not letting you go without me, and anyway, I think Kyle wants to see this super mutant for himself."

"And what if you die?!"

Sharn shrugged, "Then I die, and I hope my mother and father will be proud of me when I see them. But if we have to fight I'll be shooting from behind a rock or something. I'll be safer than you will, Abby-girl. Why do you look like you're already resigned to the worst?"

Abigail shrugged, looking lost, and Sharn had to try very hard to resist the impulse to hug her. "I don't know what I can do against those things," Abigail said, "but I have to give myself the opportunity to do *something*. I guess if I die, I die, like you said."

Hearing that sad acceptance Sharn's resolve finally did break, and she crawled onto the bed to take the girl into her arms. "Yeah, if you die then that's that, but that never means you should let it happen, Abby-girl. You've got to want to come back here so you can spend all that loot!"

Abigail clutched at Sharn in return and buried her face into her shoulder. "I don't care about loot," Abigail whispered. "I just don't want you to die!" She wheezed out a breath, almost laughing at herself, before that dark humour vanished again. "I don't even want Rathley to die. Not because of this."

Sharn accepted the embrace, conceding with her own inhibitions that it was what they both needed right then. A strengthening of weakened bridges. "Well, you know, we might not have to fight at all. I've only done a few Merc jobs for this town, but they usually have some kind of negotiation option. Who knows what the Hearts might say?"

Abigail nodded, but as they parted, something on her face told Sharn that the girl didn't believe it for a second. Sharn was not going to try and argue the point though. Abigail needed something else to think about.

"Come on," she said with a smile. "Let's get some meat in your stomach!"

***

"So, you *are* heading out again, huh?"

Abigail nodded, looking down from the vast auditorium stage. "I have to."

Her words bounced around the wide, empty room, reverberating from the walls and between each and every one of the seven hundred empty chairs. Hearing herself sound so certain made her feel naked and exposed up there. She *was* naked and exposed, almost. Standing there in her underwear would do that to her, but at least the mass of her vault family was not there to see her wardrobe blunder. She didn't feel embarrassed, only foolish.

And Abigail knew that Alice didn't care as the girl sat by herself in the blue plastic chair, the sole member of the audience.

"You would do the same, wouldn't you?"

"Who knows?" Alice replied. Hers was a friendly voice, but utterly non-committal. "You're the adventurous one, not me."

Alice was one of Abigail's better friends - one who, like Abigail herself, abstained from the scheming that went on between many of the other girls. They both knew, and Gillian as well, that the others would say thing about them behind their backs, and the three of them just didn't care. They were one part of their social network, the tomboys as they were often called, and the others slotted themselves into other places in the group. But while Abigail and Gillian were bold and charismatic, being unremarkable was Alice's greatest asset. She had said as much herself, and more than once.

She was a model student, but never exceptional enough to be singled out as such. She was pretty, but never received any attention that wasn't wanted. She was multi-talented, and yet never tried to take credit for her assistance with so many different and varied work projects.

She was the girl who everyone liked, because she gave you no reason to dislike her. The girl who everyone had seen as capable, or worth owing favours to. There was no doubt in Abigail's mind.

Alice was the girl who would be an Overseer one day.

Just as Abigail stood awkwardly on stage, Alice sat stiffly in her seat as well, her hands flat on her lap. "It'd only be an adventure if I lived to tell about it," Abigail said. Alice's bland reply had taken some of the fire out of her uneasy conviction. "This won't be an adventure."

Alice replied with a questioning look. "Really? You're fascinated by the new and exotic people, thrilled by the danger of the fighting..."

Abigail wanted to object, but her body wouldn't let her. "That's... not..."

Alice didn't let her respond further. "It is all so new, isn't it? So hard to deal with, but simply by dealing with it, it has become your victory. You know what this world is capable of now. You know what *we* are capable of. And if it comes down to it, you won't hesitate. You will cry and scream and tremble, but you will do what you have to. You were always about action, Abigail."

"I won't be very active when I'm dead."

"And you won't accept death that easily." Alice smiled finally. "None of us would. Do you know how hard we would fight?"

Abigail shut her eyes and turned her head away. "I don't want to know."

"If resigning yourself to your fate is the only way you can convince yourself to face your fears then I'll accept that, but you will need to be careful when you reach them, Abby. All that frustration of yours won't help you, and you won't be so eager to take Death's hand when he offers it."

Then Alice shrugged. "*If* he even offers it. Are you sure you're not just being a pessimist? Or do you know something that you don't want to admit to?"

Abigail couldn't answer that.

"Alight, I won't push. You know, you're not very chatty tonight. We always spend so much time talking, and listen to you now. I've almost forgotten what you sound like!"

Abigail smiled, growing misty eyed for her poor lost friend. "I haven't forgotten you. I miss talking too, you know? Even if what we talked about never mattered."

Alice nodded and finally broke her stiff pose, getting to her feet and wandering up to sit on the edge of the stage. Abigail did the same.

"Talking about nothing is the best way to start making something new, isn't it?"

Abigail had to agree.

***

When morning came, signalling their departure, Abigail found that she could put a much better face on the situation. Though she remembered little of what she had dreamt, the memory of Alice had instilled in her a calm confidence about the upcoming battle.

And it *would* be a battle, even if there might be no fire fight. This was, Abigail had realised, her chance to face the memory of her vault, still so recent and so painfully fresh. Whether or not a single shot was fired, Abigail would end up wrestling with herself over what she must do, what she would crave to do, and with the fear of simply seeing one of those hulking green monstrosities again.

It would be the test that proved to herself, once and for all, whether she could live on the surface. Would she be able to put aside her anger and her terror and live as objectively as people like Chopper and Lilis did? Those were the sort of people who made something of themselves: the doctor reviled by the self same people who would seek her out for her brutal and audacious skill, and the prostitute called upon to make the choices that lesser men and women would never be able to.

Could Abigail do that? If she did not find out, she would never forgive herself. And if she died, then she would be re-united with her vault, wherever they were now.

"Nice to see you looking better," Kyle said as they headed for the main street, and the caravan that would be waiting for them there. "I thought you might not be up to it yesterday."

"Kyle, be nice!" Sharn admonished. "You know you don't have to come if you don't want to, Abby-girl."

Abigail appreciated the sentiment that Sharn obviously intended, but she didn't want to be pushed away either. "No, I just needed to sort my head out. I figure that maybe I can be more use this time. I've been trying to remember everything I can about the monsters."

In front of them Rathley looked back to her and grinned, pulling his shades down his nose a little way. "Like the soft spot on the back of the skull, eh Sugar? There ain't nothin' a point blank shotgun shell can't handle!"

"Maybe," Sharn said, sounding entirely doubtful, "but you've got to get that close first, old man. You're not so fast on your feet, especially when you've got that metal shell over you."

Abigail looked to Rathley's pack, and saw that his metal armour still made up most of its shape. "Why didn't you wear that when the Diamonds were shooting at us?"

Rathley laughed. "I'm not sittin' in the sun with that thing on! It'll cook a man if you're not careful. Didn't get a chance to grab my pack before they started shootin', and believe me, at the time I wished I had."

"Not that it would stop a rifle round if you were hit full in the chest," Chopper said, wearing a black smile. "Though I guess it might help enough against a glancing shot to let you keep a kidney."

"But it doesn't cover that far down," Abigail said, remembering what the armour looked like from her first encounter with the raiders.

Chopper just smiled back. That had been her point.

"Armour like that comes in separate pieces around the stomach," Sharn told Abigail. "If it was all one piece like the chest you wouldn't be able to bend down, so the rest hooks on and swings out when you move. It's heavy as hell with all that extra metal though, and it gapes open if you're not careful."

"Eh, maybe I'll buy the lower bit when I find one," Rathley said, not caring. "It's typical: now I've got the caps spare, this place doesn't have a single metal suit for sale! Not even parts."

"What, really?" Kyle asked. That was a surprise, considering how often the town hired in Scavs to explore up by the Cobalt Line.

"Yup, not a fucking one. Still don't think it's really worth it though. People don't go for the gut on reflex, only when they want you to die slow. If I've got time for that, darlin' 'Marie' here'll have time to sort me out!"

Chopper gave him a questioning look. "Assuming she's in the mood to keep you around, 'old timer'."

They reached the caravan with plenty of time to spare. The brahmin had yet to be brought up, so the five of them simply climbed into the back of their cart to wait while the water was loaded on. A few of the other Mercs were there, but they were more interested in discussing what they mayor would finally say about the specifics of the mission, and about their as yet unmentioned pay.

It gave Abigail the chance to voice a question that had bothered her since she had been invited to lunch with the mayor's daughter. "Chopper? If Erin is a lesbian, why was that Diamond so insistent on her being 'his girl' when he was trying to kidnap her?"

Chopper gave a sudden chuckle at the question, blowing her breath out of her nose. "Jack? Because he was a moron? I don't know. The Diamond King brought him to Corva when he was a kid, before I arrived here. He fell in love with little Erin, though according to her they never even talked. Every now and then he'd try to come on raiding trips here to take her away and make her realise that she was supposed to be his."

She had a laugh at the memory of it. "He nearly shot me because of that. He didn't like the idea that I'd got her first."

"How did you get out of that?"

Chopper shrugged. "Erin screamed to high heaven, so all I could do was threaten him a bit. What would it have looked like if he'd been found over my dead body, with the mayor's daughter screaming and half naked at the scene?"

"And just why was she half naked at the scene?" Sharn asked, with a bit of bite in her voice.

Chopper just leered. "The same reason I was. Anyway, he didn't know her too well if he thought he could bring her round. She's not just gay, she's a real bitch about it if anyone questions her. Especially the men. She gives her dad such a headache sometimes! Or at least she used to."

The time for their departure came soon enough, but surprisingly the Mayor himself didn't. Instead Lilis came to join them. If possible, she would talk to either the Heart in charge, or to the super mutant itself. If that was not possible, she would just be there to evaluate the situation with Brotherhood Initiate Harris. As for the pay, Lilis handed each of them a sum of one hundred caps. She said that the rest would come after the job was done, once they had decided what it was actually worth to meet, and possibly fight, the Hearts and their super mutant. Several of the Mercs who had turned up balked at the offer, but the majority took it, making their caravan fifteen strong.

Abigail was surprised that there were fewer of them than on the Diamond Ring caravan, but at the same time the Mayor was not providing spotters or guards this time. It was an entirely independent job, financed by the mayor. Rathley expected that if they were successful Mayor Golway would recoup the caps by selling the information to the neighbouring towns.

Abigail was glad to see several of the faces that returned. Kirren sat with them again, as did Jassic and Bason, despite their best interests. Jassic said something about curiosity and the feline mortality rate that came with it, but for Bason seeing a new threat up close was worth the risk. Especially if first hand experience meant that they could be a part of whatever large scale operations or information trading might follow. Seb was again sitting quietly apart from them, cleaning the inside of his gun, while old Bert talked with Lilis about the specifics of the mission.

Lyster was conspicuously absent, but none complained about that, and Stephanie had chosen to stay behind as well. She had all the money she needed for now, and she had succeeded in selling her obscene automatic shotgun, the 'Shotheart Double Driver', to none other than Jassic himself. He had bought the thing in trade for both his old pump action weapon and almost everything he had been paid in for the last job, except his share of the shotgun ammunition.

There were four new faces as well, but Abigail didn't get a chance to meet them before Jassic swore loudly at the sight of the crowd that had come to see them off.

"Fuck me! Look at that!"

The expletive surprised everyone, not for being coarse - that was expected - but because the crowd at first sight was once again made up with a few well wishers and rubber-neckers, and made for a very low key send off.

That was until they also saw who joined them from the side streets. Filtering from the alleyways, slowly but with an obvious shared purpose, came a crowd of ghouls larger than most had ever seen in the town outside the ghoul quarter itself. The small crowd doubled in size as the ghouls shuffled and staggered their way to the carts, and the human half seemed to recoil instinctively at the unprecedented display of activity from them.

"What the hell got into them?" Kirren whispered, evidently not having heard the rumours, but the reason made itself clear instantly.

"What are you guys doing here?" Abigail asked, rather astonished, but Christian and his friends all smiled and grinned at her.

"What d'ya think we're doin'? Ain't gonna let ya go without a decent send off! Wouldn't be right!"

Beside him another ghoul, Albert if Abigail remembered correctly, offered up a battered looking pistol to her. "Here. You're goin' to go fightin' for us, right? Take it. It don't look so pretty, but it still shoots straight."

Abigail was flustered by the offer. "What? I can't..."

"I don't got any use for it no more," Albert insisted, almost lamenting the fact. "So you go use it for me."

Christian agreed. "Us ghouls gotta do somethin' when we get a smooth-skin fight for us, and it ain't much, but this's all we can do for ya right now, Abby."

"Take it," Chopper said quietly, out of the corner of her mouth. "Don't offend your ghoul friends."

So Abigail did, handling it carefully, both because it was a gift and because she didn't want it to go off accidentally. In return, Albert smiled broadly. "Good. Now you go kick ass for me, Abby."

From behind them Lilis called that they were leaving, but Abigail's attention wasn't broken as Celia limped closer. "Be cahreful, Habee-gale. Hy whould like to plhay dohminoes with hyou hagain, when hyou come home."

Abigail nodded, suddenly feeling deeply appreciated. With that welling in her heart, she could be assured that she was not ready to die yet. Not in the least.

"I will. I promise."

***

With fewer people taking on the job there were only ever one or two people walking beside the caravan at any time, and while a little cramped it gave the carts a more sociable atmosphere than she remembered going to and from the Diamond Ring. Most of them who had come back from that job had chosen to ride together again in the second cart, despite the bloodstains that lingered, but since Chopper showed no concerns over its hygiene neither did the rest of them. It helped that both Rathley and Lilis were riding in the forward cart again, with Bert, Seb and the newcomers. It meant that they could speak more openly, considering that neither Rathley nor Lilis was overly liked by most of them.

"What's Rathley gettin' out of this anyway?" Jassic asked. He wasn't bothering to hide his suspicion or his jealousy. "Okay, you get to work," he said to Chopper, "big whoop-de-doo, but raiders aren't *his* normal brew either. I know he cut a deal, so what does he get out of this raider run that we don't?"

"You mean besides a better chance of getting his head blown off?" Kyle smirked. "He's too well known now, so he makes one hell of a target. Like Lilis said, he's lucky he didn't make himself an easy target last time, or it might've been him and not our driver who got his brains blown out."

Then, as an apologetic afterthought, he looked over the water barrels behind him and up to their new driver. "No offence, man. You might want to duck when we get to the Hearts though."

The brahmin driver smirked. "No kidding. It won't stop me taking a few pot shots at them though!" he said, patting the rifle at his side.

This time Bason was on the same page as his co-Merc though and wasn't going to be dissuaded by Kyle's cheerful misdirection. "No, I'd like to know too. He didn't get more pay - we all shafted each other over those damn shotgun shells - so what *is* he getting? I don't know him, but I'm told that charity isn't his style. He always has an angle."

The stocky man looked to Abigail for a plain answer. "Like betting on your rat fight. Maybe it did your rep good, but still, that was low."

Abigail agreed, but wasn't going to dwell on it. Rathley had, in his own twisted way, helped her understand what surface life was about. "Maybe. But I don't know what the Mayor offered him. It was long enough before Chopper told me what *she* was getting."

Abigail gave a pointed look to the woman beside her, but Chopper just shrugged. "And you still came along, after all that fuss. Anyway, Rathley's getting the same as me."

Kirren smirked from her seat at the back, opposite Jassic. "Wow, I never pictured him as the healing type."

Chopper laughed with her. "Heh, I let him handle the euthanasia."

Abigail grimaced, and to her relief Sharn shared her distaste, sitting with Kyle at the front end. "Nice, Chopper. Really compassionate of you."

Chopper just smiled, considering it harmless. "It happens. Work, Bason. Rathley isn't so good at making friends, so he has to be carefully where he goes unless he's ready to get lynched."

Abigail blinked in surprise. "Really?"

Kyle, Sharn and Chopper all nodded. "Really." Chopper explained. "Out of every five towns in the Mid Waste, one would drive him out on sight and another two would get him shot as soon as the wrong people heard he had come back."

"Bloody hell," Jassic swore, impressed. "No wonder he stays out in the desert."

Bason had a more constructive observation to make. "So what can Golway do to fix that? Rathley hasn't made any real enemies in Corva yet, but we're just one town."

This time it was their cheerful driver who answered correctly. "Mayor Golway is a diplomat, and real persuasive to boot. He never leaves Corva but any time he gets people in from other towns he's there to share information and make new contacts. And he makes us do the same when we head out. Hell, he managed to contact the Brotherhood of Steel for help! And they listened!"

Chopper nodded. "He's an ass, but he's Mayor for a reason. And apparently he has a list of people who, for the right price or with the right leverage, could make this part of the Waste safer for Rathley to travel."

"A list of targets?" Kirren asked. It was an obvious omission on Chopper's part, but Abigail hadn't thought of that.

"You mean, people he can kill? To get them off his back?"

"Just a couple," Sharn assured her. "You know, so he can top the ones who are gunning for him before they find him first."

Chopper gave Abigail a sly look. "And apparently the township of Borgin might be more forgiving if he just married the poor girl he knocked up. I knew he was promiscuous, so I guess it makes sense if he has a few bastards running around out there!"

***

Abigail knew it was properly late the next day when she realised not how dark it was getting, but how difficult it was becoming to keep her eyes open. She refocused them and double checked the screen on the PipBoy on her wrist. They had been stopping on and off all day, but with no reason that she could see other than to check the lie of the land; which was uniformly flat and dry. Enormously so. Animals seemed few and far between on their route this time, which could probably be explained by the similar lack of even the most brittle and parched vegetation.

Maybe it would all have made more sense if she had known the first thing about tracking raiders, but she did not. She was merely a passenger. "How are we going to find the Hearts? We've been zigzagging all day, and if we keep bending south each time we'll end up going back to Corva."

Then, as if to punctuate her question, she let out a very large yawn. The sun would be setting soon, and they would have to make camp, but sitting in the cart all day had drained the energy from her without the slightest effort on her part.

Kirren smiled at her lethargic display. "The same way you track an animal: look for its tracks, and follow them. Raider camps are usually pretty conspicuous, but they move around so much you need to make sure you're following a fresh trail and not the tracks they left out here a year ago."

"That's what all the zigzagging is about," Bason illuminated. "If you know where they've been recently it's easy, but we're after a specific camp of Hearts, who we heard were here about a week ago. Zigzagging gives us the best view of everything that's been around here recently, and we then work out which routes match what we're after best. We found them about three o'clock, when we started heading south like you said. Now we're just being cautious, so we don't lose them."

Abigail didn't really understand how that was possible, but just accepted it on faith. "I would have though that the wind would have covered all the tracks, with all this sand everywhere."

Chopper took Abigail's hand and held it up into the air. "You feel any wind?"

To her surprise, Abigail didn't. "Oh."

"In some places the wind makes tracking impossible," Chopper said casually, "but the only real winds we get here are when the currents change and it comes off the Cobalt Line. When that happens raider tracks are the least of our worries."

"And when we say tracks we don't just mean footprints," Bason added. "Brahmin pats, dead campfires, used up stim needles, even bullet casings. Raiders leave more crap in the desert than any trading caravan. Like I said, they're conspicuous."

At that point Kirren looked over the back of the cart, and pointed to one of the partially filled footprints in the dust. "But that's what we've been after."

Abigail, sitting between her and Chopper, leaned over to see the print as it disappeared behind them. It was huge. "The super mutant monster..."

"Yup," Kirren said. "Hard to spot, but pretty obviously what we're after. We're heading south since this is the freshest of the three sets it made, but we only found it by crossing off their old route. Otherwise we'd still be heading up towards where the Diamonds said they were last."

That made more sense, or at least Abigail thought so, but she had had enough talk for one day. She turned off the screen of her PipBoy, since their crazy route wasn't worth saving to its memory. "Good. I guess it's one of those things you just learn naturally up here."

"Something like that," Bason said. "I bet we're going to be riding for another hour, 'til sundown at least, so get yourself some shuteye before dinner. You look knackered, girl."

Abigail gave him a wry smile, but rested her head against the low side of the cart and closed her eyes. She really did need a nap. "Eh, thanks."

Despite how uncomfortable the wooden cart was, and the fact that she had to sit up straight if everyone was to have room, she was out like a light in no time at all. Kyle and Sharn watched with great amusement as she keeled gently over, coming to rest her head on Chopper's shoulder instead of the hard lip of the cart's side.

"She really *was* knackered out, wasn't she?" Bason said, surprised at how accurate he had been. "Weird girl."

"Well, she has got a lot on her mind, I bet," Sharn said in her defence.

Chopper remained quiet as Abigail dozed against her side, and allowed herself a lop-sided smile. She pulled the girl's exhaustive medical textbook out of her bag and began to read again.

***

The first Abigail knew of the morning was Rathley's boot poking into her side, bringing her from a very deep sleep. "Huh? What?" She blinked once before being struck by the light that shone in through the open tent flap, and then cursed as she scrabbled around for her shades. "Ow, god damn it, Rathley! Close the curtain!"

Her annoyance was soon joined by Chopper's early morning rasp. "Ehhgh, you could just ask us to get up, you know."

"Fuck the pleasantries," Rathley whispered, sounding eager but without any smile of expectation on his face. "We're going in."

Now that Abigail had her shades she could see Chopper no longer cloaked with the fuzz of the morning, but hurriedly dressing herself in what clothes she hadn't yet again slept in. Rathley proceeded to kick Sharn and Kyle awake as well beneath their shared blanket, even though they were both already stirring.

"Alright already!" Kyle whispered, "We're up. Where're my pants?"

Chopper flung him his discarded clothes, since they had strayed over to her cramped portion of the tent. "Who's got the coffee? We remembered the coffee, right? Fuck, it's too early for this mission crap."

"Bason and Lilis might have some left outside if you're lucky," Rathley said, grabbing his pack from the corner of the tent. Upending it revealed his armour, and he pulled the heavy metal shell over his head.

Kyle barely paid any attention to him, instead passing Sharn her clothes until he saw Abigail looking at them without much comprehension. "Better get your leathers on, Abby. The Hearts might have spotted us already."

Only then did Abigail's waking brain choose to fill in the gaps. She did not remember much of the previous night, except that for the first time since she had come above ground these surface people had eaten their evening meal entirely by moonlight. The food had been dry and unpleasantly cold, desert temperature Kirren had called it, and Abigail had been woken from her snoozing in the cart simply to eat before she and her companions, sans Rathley as ever, had staggered into their tent for the night.

There had been good reason for the lack of campfire or torchlight though. Lilis had pushed their brahmin past sundown and into the night out of a clever necessity. It left them camped up within striking distance of the Hearts, now that they had plonked themselves down again. The Hearts' camp was small, only four tents and no animals, but they had holed themselves up in some old brushwood, and looking into the red morning air a fire could already be seen in their camp.

Fully dressed and quickly put into their right minds, the five of them joined the rest of the camp as they all prepared themselves. As Abigail might have expected, while most of them were checking their weapons or clutching at tin cups of bitter, luke-warm coffee in the cold morning air, Lilis and the Brotherhood of Steel man, Harris, both stood awake and commanding. They were already organising their approach.

"Jassic, stop playing with that monstrosity and answer the question," Lilis repeated. While fully awake and in control, her patience was obviously suffering since the sun was still only struggling to rise.

Jassic did look up from his automatic shotgun. He looked anxious, but put on a very confident front. "Will you guys have my back? That's my question. I know I'm good, and I know he's good, or he wouldn't be Brotherhood," he said, pointing to Initiate Harris, "but a two man assault? That's mad."

From the other side of their camp one of the newcomers spoke up. "Just why is it the prostitute deciding tactics here anyway?"

Lilis gave the man a venomous look. "Because I'm better at it than you, Merc."

Harris stepped in to put the discussion back on track. "Mr Jassic, between us we will have more firepower than most of the others here combined. It makes sense to have us working together, to make best use of that advantage. Assuming that... contraption, does work as advertised."

"Seb and Chopper will be your cover. I trust both of you can at least lay down some suppressing fire when needed?"

Chopper snorted in distaste. "If I have to."

Seb seemed similarly dissatisfied, but was more professional about the idea. "I would be better put on a striking position, but if no-one else carries a sub-machine gun..."

Humouring him, Lilis looked around with a questioning eye. "... Nobody? That's decided then. The four of you will be the attack force, should it be required. Take the right flank of the Hearts' camp and hide in the brush. The moment you hear a shot fired, you come out and do your thing. Don't worry about your targets, just destroy everything and everyone from right flank to left, and don't stray off your line or you'll be shooting us as well."

Next she turned to the newcomers. "Merc, you just voted yourself as my support. We go in from the front and make contact. You keep your guns at your sides until either they start shooting or I give the word. How are you three armed?"

One man held up a sizable pistol, while the other two carried unnecessarily sawn shotguns. "Right. You'll be covering our retreat then. You want to drive them behind cover, and take out anyone stupid enough to stay standing."

"Hey, are you armed?" one of the men asked.

Lilis shook her head before moving on. "Not for a firefight. You," she said pointing to Kyle and Sharn, "You two can go with Kirren and take up covered positions to the rear of the camp. After we and Harris' team pin them down, you pinpoint and take out anyone who took cover in the open. If it goes well most of them should have their backs to you."

She paused and took a look around the camp. "Okay, Vault Girl, Bert, Rathley... who else is left?"

Bason put up his hand.

Lilis looked him over, as if wondering about the stout man. "I'm guessing you're not one for infiltration?"

"Never tried."

"Then stick with Initiate Harris and go all out. Go for tent supports if you can. You three," he said to Abigail, Rathley and Old Bert, "get the infiltration between you."

"Infiltrate an open camp?" Kirren asked. "I assume they're just going to sneak into the tents."

"That's the idea," Lilis confirmed, "While I talk with them, you three pick a tent each and go in under the tarps from the rear, or hide behind them and be ready to go under if we haven't given them sufficient distraction. You take out anyone inside who our three sharpshooters can't see. "

At that point Sharn interrupted. "But that'll put them in the line of fire from the Initiate's group!"

To Sharn's horror Lilis nodded. "The three of them are to stay low, so when the first lot of shooting stops, they ambush anyone trapped in the collapsed tents."

"Despite being trapped themselves," Chopper noted.

Abigail just listened to this in shock, and found herself trembling. Beside her both Sharn and Chopper took her hands, and she squeezed them anxiously, hoping to draw strength from them.

Jassic had another more amused concern about the idea. "Are you sure those two old wrecks can handle something like that?"

Old Bert simple raised an eyebrow at Jassic's attitude, while Rathley cracked his knuckles. "This should be interesting. Would you mind if I did my thing before you open fire?"

Lilis stared at him hard. "As long as it's quiet, and you hide the body well."

Sharn wasn't having it though. "No way, we can't just..."

Lilis cut her off. "Their objective," she said loudly, over Sharn's irate voice, "is to see if anyone is even in them. If not, they retreat. If so, they deal with them, if we do have to fight. They can wait outside until the tents are down and then shoot the lumps underneath for all it matters. The point is that we shouldn't be wasting our shotgun ammunition shooting blindly into the ground."

Of course Abigail wanted to speak out, but then the scenario actually made sense. She was an acrobat, and a knife thrower. Even with Albert's beaten up pistol at her hip, she would be best used up close, and silent. It terrified her that she would be put into that kind of situation, but this was her role. She had to do her part.

And it broke her heart when Sharn's ire had subsided and her self-consciousness returned, making her let go of Abigail's hand for the sake of their imagined propriety. Abigail did not say anything though. She just balled her fist, and forced herself to let go of Chopper's hand as well. She was not a child any more.

At the centre of the camp Initiate Harris set the mood, pulling his unusually clean and chunky shotgun out of the holster against his thigh. "Okay, let's go."

***

Getting so close to the Hearts, and getting into their required positions, was far easier than most of them had expected. It was early still, and while they could not catch the raiders sleeping as they had hoped, the Hearts were caught unawares. Given that they had so little cover with which to make an approach Abigail was amazed that no signal was raised in the wandering raider camp, but as Rathley had pointed out, why would they expect anything out in the middle of nowhere? And why would they notice anyone approaching from outside the lines of half dead trees they had taken as their cover?

And, unlike Abigail, the raiders were still half asleep. That much was clear as she listened from the back of one of the tents. A brief, coarse bout of lazy sex was interrupted as the woman inside went into a phlegmy coughing fit, and her partner was disgusted enough to break off in favour of what sounded like a gulp from a bottle of sipping liquor. They both soon started bitching to each other about why they did not need the other for physical gratification, and in rather graphic detail. The whole exchange made Abigail feel nauseous - quite unlike the sex she had heard in the past.

Thankfully she did not have long to wait before Lilis and her guards made their move, and while Abigail could not hear what they were saying, it did draw the attention of the two inside the tent. Carefully, Abigail flattened herself to the ground, hoping very hard that nobody would open fire, and she peeked under the cloth.

Inside the man was hurriedly pulling on his faded and threadbare jeans, while the woman wore a long, luridly dyed skirt, slit up the middle into two halves, and she was watching the exchange outside through the open tent front.

"Man, they're talkin' out there," the woman said, sounding mildly impressed. "Think they're lookin' to trade or somethin'?"

"Doubt it," her partner replied, zipping his flies and being careful not to catch himself in the process. "Where's the goods? I guess our super mutant has someone spooked. Maybe try and talk us outta taking him to the boss."

"Heh, fat chance. Hey, look at that bitch go white! Man, I always love it when they see our brute for the first time!"

And, as the monster passed that way, Abigail saw it through the tent flap too. Eleven feet tall and clad in belt-straps and old scrap metal, the green skinned thing lumbered across her field of view briefly, bringing with it nightmares that Abigail was still putting behind her. She gasped into the dirt and had to stifle a cough, but thankfully the pair of Hearts hadn't heard her. They were too engrossed in watching the show.

"Hey Tass," the man said, "I think that guy just pissed himself!" He pulled a couple of small green things from the pocket in his jeans, and offered them to his partner.

"Haha! What a schmuck!" The girl took one of the tablets and popped it into her mouth, crunching down on it. "Heh. At least he'll be dead soon, so he won't care for long! Fuck, I am so pumped for his!"

Abigail froze, still trying to control herself. Were the Hearts intent on a fight? Of course, they would be confident since they didn't know how many guns were ready to take them on, but then Abigail would be caught in the thick of it!

"Whoa, grab your spears, Tass. Pit's gonna make his shot."

The raider pointed to the tent on the other side of the camp, and Abigail could see it as well. The barrel of a rifle was poised at the entrance. And the camp leader was still talking calmly with Lilis! They were going start shooting with an assassination shot!

Abigail began to sweat, trying to think fast. She had to stay on the ground, or risk getting caught in the crossfire from Chopper, Jassic and Bason, but she also had to warn the others. She reached for Albert's old gun at her hip. If she could make the first shot then Lilis might be able to get to safety when the raiders all scattered. But then would the sniping raider just make his shot and then hide? Abigail couldn't hope to hit him from there - she had never fired a gun that wasn't at point blank range - and either way, then these two raiders would know where she was. What if they weren't killed soon enough by Chopper and her team? The woman was already giggling and bouncing on her feet, itching for the fight. Whatever she had taken, it was obviously making her more confident about facing down two shotguns with only a pair of spears in her hands.

Then the choice was taken out of her hands. Right in front of Abigail's eyes a flash lit up the sniper's tent, and the report of the shot made her jump. But the flash didn't come from the muzzle of his gun, and the sniper was hurled out of the tent, a cloud of blood in his wake.

That was the tent Old Bert had taken to hide behind, and his shot unleashed hell on that camp. Abigail lay on her front and screamed as the air above her was filled with lead. She did not need to see them to know that the two raiders were cut to ribbons by the hail of bullets and buckshot. They screamed like animals before being silenced just as quickly, and the right side of the tent collapsed on top of them all soon afterwards.

Then, after a moment, the gunfire ceased. The assault team had expended their ammunition, and now it was up to the rest of them to clean up. Hopefully that terrible noise would have been enough to kill the murderous mutant with his huge gun. Abigail broke out of her shivering with a start, and opened her eyes. She needed to be acting now. If she hesitated she might end up in the crossfire again, and she didn't want to die. Not now.

The left half of the tent was still standing, so Abigail scrambled up into it. She tried to ignore the torn body of the raider man that lay sprawled in the shade of the tent, but it was hard to take her eyes off him. He still had his drugs in his hand.

But when she did look up and out of the gap in the Swiss cheese that was left of the tent wall, the sight that met her was even worse. Alone in the centre of the camp stood the super mutant, and from his two enormous hands hung the bodies of two of the raiders, bloodied and broken beyond all recognition, literally falling into pieces. Though the hulking mutant was hurt, those two bodies had shielded him from the worst of the gunfire, both from the front and the flank.

"That not nice," he droned in that hideous, guttural voice, like those that Abigail remembered so well. "All Hearts probably dead now. Hearts break easily, and Brute liked Hearts."

The eleven foot monster dropped his two 'friends', and reached behind him for the weapon slung over his back. "Brute have some fun now too."

Abigail screamed for Lilis and her guardian Mercs to run, but none of them did. Lilis, rational and unarmed, flung herself to the ground in an instant. The Mercs, rooted to the spot in both bravado and fear, opened fire on the super mutant. Each got only a single shot, and their shells and bullet either struck the mutant's tough hide or ricocheted off its makeshift armour, but the mutant only winced and pulled the trigger on its minigun.

Except this minigun took almost no time at all to wind up, and from its six white barrels leapt beams of bright red light. Abigail watched in horror as the lasers lanced out and slaughtered all three of them in as many seconds. Two were filled with a neat line of glowing red holes, while the third man did not even scream as he was sliced clean in half across the stomach.

Abigail could not move. This was how her friends and her family... whatever the weapon, this was how her entire vault had died. The others were not so idle though, and two rifle rounds slammed into the back of the mutant's head. Unlike Abigail's monster though, this one wore a crude and dented metal helmet, and between that and the creature's thick skull the rifle rounds could not break through. Blood began to pour down the mutant's neck, but it turned with a lumbering roar and fired again, dragging the searing beams of the gatling laser gun across the sharpshooters' cover.

Though Abigail could not see it, from behind that now burning wood a woman screamed.

"Sharn!" Abigail gasped.

And then, from behind Abigail, another spray of bullets flew out, burying themselves in the mutant's right arm. They did damage, and the monster had to grab the gun with its other hand to stop it tilting to the ground, but then it hauled the weapon towards them, still firing.

Abigail dropped into the dust again, just in time for the bright red gunfire to pass over her. Behind her, from the dry vegetation, she heard a thump, and a headless body fell forwards out of the scrub. Seb's head had been sliced clean away, and the stump of his neck sizzled, cooked by the heat of the super mutant's weapon.

The mutant was pushed forward roughly, and behind it she could see Rathley striding out into the open. His shotgun was levelled at the monster, and he cocked it again, unloading another shell into its leathery hide.

"Tough fucker aren't you!!" he shouted, taunting the super mutant. "How much of *this* do you think you can take!?"

In return the mutant, knowing it would be too slow in turning around, bent down and grabbed one of the destroyed raiders' bodies at its feet, and tossed backwards it at Rathley. The wasteland Scav had to leap out of the way to avoid being bowled over by the gory mess, and his third shot went massively wide. "Oh dammit!"

That *was* enough time for the super mutant to turn, and Abigail gasped. Rathley was going to be slaughtered, and no matter how she hated him at times, she did not want him to die. But she couldn't move. All she had were knives and a pistol that she couldn't use. What could she do?

Then, as the monster took its second step, it struck her. She could live like the wastelanders did. If she did not have the courage herself, she would take the courage the raiders had. She glanced down to the dead raider beside her, and snatched up one of the pills in his hand. If that could make a woman with a spear want to face down a shotgun, it could make her face that monster's lasers.

The pill tasted of nothing, bland and chalky on her tongue, but the second she crushed it between her teeth she found that she could move. Whether it was a placebo effect or something in the strange synthetic taste that suddenly flooded her nose and throat, it did it job. She ran from her cover, and towards the exposed back that the super mutant turned to show her. It was peppered with Rathley's buckshot, and blood seeped down it from the wounds beneath its helmet, and with adrenaline filling her Abigail reached into her pocket and pulled out two of her knives. One slipped easily into her right hand, while the fingers of her left found their way into the holes in the knife's hilt, pointing down from her fist and with blade facing forwards, like a climber's pick.

But it wasn't just adrenaline filling her. Something in that chemically aromatic pill was affecting her, because she ran flat out and it felt like no effort at all. She crossed the distance to the monster in seconds, and though she had planned simply to hurl her knife at it and turn its attention away from Rathley, she realised that she could close the gap completely. Her fear had become a thrill, and she leaped bodily at the super mutant, using every ounce of strength in her legs as easily as if she had been dancing. She landed on the super mutant just as it opened fire, and she dug her left knife into its mangled back to give her purchase, slashing at its gun arm with the right.

The mutant's burst of shots careered away, but with so many lasers firing so fast Rathley did not escape unscathed. One of the beams caught the side of his armour, and while the metal could reflect away some of the energy, the rest was absorbed to make the impact glow red hot, and that outer edge began to melt away. Rathley cried out in shock, dancing around as his side was burned by the heat, and he tried to pull the armour off without burning himself more.

And, without the monster's left arm to support it, the barrels of its gun fell to the floor and ground themselves to a halt. The creature roared again and swung around.

"Get off me, human!"

Abigail did so, leaping away before the monster could swing its injured arm around and club her with the now inactive weapon. She knew that she couldn't miss a step and she raced around the beast, drawing it in a circle and allowing someone from the sharpshooters' cover to put two more bullets into its torso. The mutant would surely have to fall soon, and it could no longer hold its gun up one handed in order to start it again, but Abigail didn't care. She felt oh so alive, and she was grinning as she dodged effortlessly away from another crippling swing of the mutant's weapon.

Her newfound synthetic confidence spread out from her stomach to guide her steps, but it also caught her up in her own personal battle. When she threw her knife, aiming for the creature's neck, she did not think that she could miss, and never considered what would happen if she did. The monster saw her throw coming, and slumped out of the way just in time to let the knife pass by, only to embed itself in Rathley's arm as he finally slung his glowing armour to the ground.

"Gahh! Fucking..! Watch where the fuck you throw those things!!!"

Now, all of a sudden, Abigail's confidence was tainted with guilt, and the blood pumping in her ears seemed to whisper over and over to her, "Jinx, jinx, jinx!"

"It's not my fault!" Abigail cried, but the tainted confidence would not let go. She knew she was better than that. This was *her* battle now. *Her* revenge. In one sudden dash she released all the incredible energy that flooded her, jumping inwards and catching the super mutant off guard as he stamped after her for another swing.

This time the knife that slipped into her right hand would strike true, and with one deft throw it sliced into the air before sinking into the super mutant's eye. Half blinded and already riddled with painful bullet holes the monster screamed the lowest and loudest scream Abigail had ever heard, before falling to its knees and pulling the knife painfully from its useless socket. "Arrgh! Stop, Brute not want to die for dead Hearts, Brute..."

And then it was silenced. Abigail looked down to see her fingers wrapped around her third knife, the blade embedded in the mutant's throat. She had not even realised that the gap had been closed so fast, let alone what she had just done. The creature coughed and spasmed, but Abigail could feel that it was more out of physical reflex than any desire to breathe. She could feel the grinding of blade against bone with every jerk, the point of the knife neatly slipping through the monster's airway and between two of its oversized vertebrae. It was already very dead.

She had done it. The beast was dead. She ripped her knife from its neck as hard as she could. "Take that you murdering bastard!" she screamed, but that scream did not seem enough. The fire still burned energetically in her muscles. She wanted a better fight out of such a disgusting monster.

Then the slap hit her, and her limbs grew taut, ready to strike. Except that, again, she did not remember Lilis having got up yet, or Chopper already restraining her in preparation for the hit that Abigail would otherwise have made.

Then again, a rational part of her mind said to her that Lilis had only returned a favour. And that rational part seemed scarily small.

"It had surrendered," Lilis said, frowning. "Can you imagine what we could have learned from it?!"

"You can't trust those monsters!!" Abigail screamed back, straining against Chopper's arms, and the medic had to work hard to keep her under control. The righteous energy in her was far from extinguished.

"It's over," Chopper said. Given how Abigail refused to stop struggling, she made it a command. "Settle down Abby! It's over already!"

Then, behind Lilis, Initiate Harris spoke. He was covered in blood, but he himself seemed unharmed. "She's right, we couldn't have trusted it. Weapons like that could only come from the Brotherhood of Steel, or the gun runners from the west. Either way, this mutant should not have had it. That would have made it a big threat, and a bigger liability. It needed to be exterminated."

The Brotherhood man's defence filled Abigail with a sense of justification, but she did not need it now. Chopper's arms were gone, replaced instead with Sharn's voice in her ears. "Quickly Chopper, she's bleeding out!"

Abigail looked over to see Sharn and Kyle carrying Kirren over and laying her down next to Rathley. Her left arm was missing, cut clean through the bicep.

"Damn," Chopper swore with good humour, though whether out of callousness or an attempt to amuse her patient Abigail couldn't tell. "If it was going to cook you like that it could have cauterised the arteries for you, eh?"

Abigail felt her excited limbs trembling. Sharn was alive. But Kirren might be dying. And then she remembered Seb, lying beheaded by the tent. And the men with Lilis, they were torn apart, their blood splashed across the dry ground along with the blood of so many raiders. Next to Jassic, Bason was clutching his right arm again, just as he had at the Diamond Ring. One of the lasers must have grazed him. It looked like it hurt.

And Rathley looked up from where he lay beside Chopper as she tried to keep Kirren alive. He gave her a smirk, made more unpleasant by that old, deep scar across his lower lip. Her knife was still embedded in his upper arm.

"Sugar, I don't know whether to kiss you or blow your goddam head off. Guess you wouldn't be up for either one though, hehe."

Somehow he sounded tired.

Then Abigail realised that someone was missing. "Wait," she said to Lilis, trying to calm herself, "where's Old Bert? He saved your life."

In response Lilis just pointed to the collapsed tent on the other side of the camp. "He didn't make it. Stray fire. Or one of the raiders got him before they went down."

Even filled with that boundless vigour, Abigail felt her legs go weak. "W-what? But he was... he was good at this... like Rathley... Right?"

"Eh," Rathley quipped, "I'm not so good at this. Raiders aren't so much my style. Old Bert had a good run. I'll miss the bastard."

Hearing Rathley call someone by name like that, even in affectionate mockery after his death, was the straw that broke the camel's back. Surrounded by the slaughter, Abigail finally threw up. Lilis, for all her composure, followed suit shortly after.

Afterwards, and after a good cry alone while her friends tended to each other, Abigail felt a little better. But only a little.

***

Contrary to popular belief, looting the dead was a difficult task for most people. Different people drew the lines in all sorts of places. Jassic and Bason, for example, were happy to take the raiders' bloody boots, at least from those who had worn usable ones. Kyle and Sharn were far more choosy, taking a few high cost weapons and pocketfuls of ammunition, rather than weighing themselves down with mundane sundries.

For her own part, Marie Butcher - she was still Marie in her own mind, if in no-body else's - was more concerned with consumables than equipment. She had less problem rooting around the mangled bodies than most of the others, so would have ransacked their pockets and their packs for dry food, stimpaks, the odd cap here and there, and any drugs that could go into her medical serums and salves. After her part in the firefight she was also a full clip down on ammunition, so would barter with Kyle for a few nine mil rounds as well.

But all that took time and energy, both physical and emotional. It had been midday by the time they had claimed everything, and Chopper had been saddled with the additional problem of caring for Kirren while the others scrounged for their profits. Sharn had made sure the both of them would be taking home a decent share, but there were no town laws out there to govern who could take what. That was one of the reasons that Chopper not only tolerated Sharn, but appreciated her outlook. Without someone like that around, Chopper would have come out of the fight with nothing to show for it, all because her job did not finish after the guns had gone silent.

Kirren was a wreck, but thanks to the clean wound and Chopper's skill there was no doubt that she would survive. There was still a good six inches of stump beyond her shoulder, so tying off, sewing up and wrapping it thoroughly left the woman pale and anaemic, but stable. All without painkillers too. There hadn't been time, so Kirren had screamed most satisfyingly as Chopper had done her work. Screamers were the ones with the will to survive.

The afternoon had been more sedate, but they had not left their own camp. Shakey legs needed time to be calmed, as did disturbed stomachs. Even in her line of work Chopper had not often seen people so thoroughly torn apart by machinegun and shotgun fire. In comparison the holes and slicing of the super mutant's repeating laser gun had been nice and clean. Clinical even.

Sharn, assisted by Kyle, had felt the need to bury the bodies, and though only using a single shallow pit that spiritual indulgence had taken them most of the afternoon. Rathley, once his burn had been salved and his stab wound bandaged and stimmed, had decided to scout around the brushwood thickets for dinner and for anything the raiders might have squirreled away. Jassic and Bason spent their time with Lilis and Initiate Harris, marvelling at the dead super mutant, and occasionally attempting to count how many bullets the thing had actually taken before Abigail had managed to cut it down. The two officials were performing a more serious study of the creature though, and one that Chopper sorely wished she had been privy to instead of pumping meds and painkillers into Kirren. She did notice that the Brotherhood agent, in his arrogance, had confiscated the laser weapon, but since that was more than his share the rest of them were happy to let him have it as long as he took nothing else.

The real unknown though was Abigail. She had not stayed around the bloody camp, and only Rathley had seen her briefly claiming some spoils of her own before she had left the scene, visibly upset. That wasn't how Rathley had put it, but then he had been more concerned about Chopper neglecting his wounds at the time.

She was overly concerned, but at the same time Chopper did not like the idea that Abigail was unaccounted for. She did stupid things when not supervised, and like it or not Chopper felt that Abigail's fate was hers to supervise more than it was Sharn's, or anyone else's. That was part of the attraction. Abigail was needy, and yet had grown independent and wilful with the same speed that she had recovered from her brush with radioactive death. She had Sharn's kindness mixed with Erin's innocent demeanour, and yet she did what neither girl had managed to do...

She made Chopper worry for her, and Chopper both loathed that fact... and liked it. She made Chopper guess at every turn. Her sensibilities were skewed in every direction, so she could come out with the strangest things to say or do, from breaking down and crying for defending herself to lashing out at Lilis with no provocation whatsoever. None that was personal anyway.

To everyone else it was clear that Abigail was running to catch up with the way of life for a Scav-turned-Merc on the surface. But to a few perceptive folk, like Chopper, it was also clear that they were running to catch up to her, and the chaos she caused. Everything that had happened since they had found her had been on her terms. Her attitudes and actions had helped to lead their group into taking on proper mercenary work for the first time since Chopper had signed on, and her combinations of ignorance and action had shaped many of the choices made from then on.

There was also the fact that she had made it very hard for anyone to ignore her. She was beautiful in a youthful way, with only the radiation scars on her back to show that she had ever been at the world's mercy. Only pampered girls like Erin were ever as lucky as that, but Abigail had a great deal more backbone than they did, whether she aspired to it or not. Similarly, she had made a striking image out of her day-blindness, taking the raider styling of the Diamonds and making it both sleek and gritty. Her leathers no long had any pretension about them, and her sun glasses hid her naivete from the world. She might not have noticed, but people stared. And when they made their snap judgements, either at a bar or in the heat of battle, that small but intense presence of hers was there nagging in the back of their minds. If she could harness that, learn to live their way and replace her fear and uncertainty with confidence, she could become a personality to be reckoned with.

But of course, that understanding of her had come with time. At first Chopper had only seen a cute dying girl, who might have been fun to have around, and would be a challenge to keep alive. After that Chopper had been everything from impressed to deeply disappointed with the girl, but it had taken her all that time to realised just who and what Abigail was. She was a sheltered weakling who had never had to hide, and had never been protected. Just as it was not in her nature to kill, so it was not in her nature to cower either. She aspired to be a survivor, without having the courage to exert the power required.

And yet Chopper had to admit that Abigail had already passed that phase as well, and succeeded. She had killed today, and been swept away by that power she had needed. When word got out in Corva that she had slain the super mutant in hand to hand combat after the Mercs' guns had failed, she would be a legend. The only question remaining was whether she was ready to deal with that.

Well, that and the matter of her disappearance. She had not eaten dinner with them, and Sharn and Kyle had gone out looking for her now that the light had faded. Unlike them Chopper thought better of the girl and had decided to leave her to it, whatever it was she was doing, but there was the annoying worry in the back of her mind that Abigail would be finding new and interesting was of making life difficult for them both.

And, a little while later, Chopper found Abigail deciding to do just that. Sharn and Kyle had still not returned, but Abigail pulled aside the tent curtain and plodded in as though she had been wandering with no idea of where she was going or where she had been. She was much easier to read now that her shades rested in her jacket pocket and not on her nose. Chopper sat up from beneath her coat blanket, still far from finding sleep, and was instantly curious. "Ah, there she is. From that look on your face I'll assume that Sharn and Kyle are still out there looking for you."

Abigail's expression didn't change. "Oh, they were looking for me?"

"Still are, for all I know," Chopper said. "Have you been having fun out in the wilds of the waste?"

Abigail shook her head. "Not really." She was silent a moment, and Chopper didn't break that silence. She wanted to hear what Abigail would have to say next. She was not the reticent type.

"I'm sorry I killed it. But it deserved to die."

Chopper chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. "Doesn't make any odds to me. As long as I get to study it one way or the other..."

Abigail clenched her fists. "It makes odds to me!!"

So, she was still upset. That was understandable, and she still had time to sort herself out. "Just lie down and get some sleep," Chopper advised. "Have you eaten yet?"

Abigail lost the frown she had been wearing and pulled off her jacket. "Yes. Whatever it was in that packet, it was too dry."

Chopper let herself laugh again. "That'll teach you to buy that crap. It's no good for anyone, especially a scrawny thing like you."

In response to that, Abigail swallowed hard, and clenched her fists again, which caused Chopper to take note.

"You... you like mind games, don't you Chopper?"

This was interesting. Chopper grinned. "Depends on the mind."

Abigail let her jacket drop, heedless of the shades inside it, and stepped out of the matching trousers. Then, to Chopper's surprise, she pulled off the upper part of her jumpsuit as well.

"Then you can pretend, right? Just for tonight, I want to pretend."

Chopper stared, her smile broadening, but the corners of her mouth lost their sharp edge. It was one hell of a sight to behold, Abigail standing there bare-chested and awkwardly awaiting her reply, after so many denials that the girl had any interest. Abigail swallowed again, but didn't shift her feet or try to cover herself. She simply waited.

Rather than replying, Chopper got to her feet, and closed the distance between them. "Pretend?" she asked, taking Abigail's unhappy chin and raising her head.

That showed the dampness in Abigail's eyes. "I want to pretend that you love me," she said, sounding so bleak and at the same time so hopeful. "I want to pretend that I can love you. I just want to be with someone tonight."

Chopper's smile could only grow. Abigail could not have looked more adorable or desirable to Chopper than she did right then. Chopper leaned down and kissed her. Not fully, but enough not to tease the poor girl. "Who has to pretend?"

That was all the confirmation that Abigail needed, and she pressed her half-naked body against Chopper's clothes, standing on her toes to kiss her again. Chopper felt the heat rise in her body as she allowed Abigail's tongue to meet her own, and her hands wandered freely down Abigail's scarred back to grope at her slender behind underneath the tight jumpsuit.

Abigail did not do the same, for which Chopper was a little sorry, but she let Abigail clutch her just long enough to finish their kiss. As they parted, Chopper's hands pulled the half-jumpsuit further down, barely leaving Abigail modest at all. Abigail did not seem to want to let go, and instead her hands slipped around to Chopper's sides, and when Chopper began to unbutton her shirt Abigail helped.

Seeing that lost look still on Abigail's face Chopper was tempted to stop and question her again, but she knew that if she did that it would only put more doubt into the girl's mind. Chopper wanted her, and if Abigail wanted the same, even if only 'pretending', then that was more than alright. Their hands met at the last button, and Chopper played her part, taking Abigail's fingers beneath her own and pressing them against her ample chest. There they stayed on her heavy duty brassiere as Chopper removed the shirt, and once free of it Chopper held her close again, pulling them together with her left hand while her right came to rest over Abigail's own petit left breast.

As they kissed again, more forceful with their lips this time, it seemed to give Abigail confidence. She slipped her hands beneath Chopper's brassiere and pushed it up the woman's chest to let her breasts sit heavily against her hands. Chopper once again let her left hand wander down to caress Abigail's rear.

As she did so, Abigail broke that third kiss suddenly, looking down at her hands pushing against Chopper's body. Her breath was shaky, and threatening to break the illusion that they had so easily crafted. "I can't believe I'm..."

Chopper cut her off by pulling her jumpsuit legs further down, almost unbalancing them both, and she pressed her right hand more firmly against Abigail's breast. "Believe it." Then, more gently and with pleasure in her voice. "Just let yourself do it, Abby."

Chopper was glad when Abigail did so, and after she had pulled the rest of the girl's clothing from her she leaned down to place a kiss against Abigail's neck. Abigail finally smiled, water still shining in her eyes, and she unpinned Chopper's bra, simply wanting to touch her now, and hold her warm body close.

Chopper's hand slipped downwards across Abigail's clean stomach, and she returned Abigail's smile with absolute confidence.

"I can love you all you want."

***

To be continued...

***

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2008


	8. Equal and Opposite

After the Vault: Chapter 08

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

---

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 08

Equal and Opposite

Consciousness was an unwelcome intruder into Abigail's world the morning after. She was overly warm, but sleep had been deep and comforting for her. Right then she didn't want to think too much about the day before. And though she wanted to she couldn't think clearly about the night either.

As surreal as it had seemed, that had not been a dream. Chopper's body was still along side her own, sprawled uncaringly on her back as she continued to sleep. Her right hand still rested on Abigail's thigh, while Abigail's legs crossed over Chopper's own. Abigail moved them. It wasn't... Wasn't what?

It wasn't appropriate, she finally explained to herself.

She quickly became aware of how guarded she had become so early in the morning, but strangely she didn't feel embarrassed. If anything, the naked proof of their night together reassured her. She didn't want it to, but the reassurance was welcoming. She had lost her virginity at last, and at a time when it had actually mattered to her.

And Chopper had pretended very well. She had lavished her not only with physical attention, but emotional as well. Chopper had whispered how she had desired her from the beginning, and how Abigail had tied her in knots for so many different reasons. She had made Abigail feel beautiful, and desired. Chopper had touched her both with knowing care and with untamed desire, and Abigail had been guided across every inch of Chopper as well, the older woman sharing her personal secrets while she discovered Abigail's own.

So as unwelcome as the morning was, that was as least a good memory to wake to. Chopper was a hard person, but she had softened for Abigail's sake.

No, that wasn't right. Chopper was not selfless. It had pleased her to soften her attitude and work her gentle seductions, Abigail was sure. It made Abigail wonder whether Chopper would put the night behind her without a second thought, or whether she would continue to play at her role, expecting Abigail to be enamoured enough to play as well.

Abigail already knew the answer, but more pressing than that was the other pair of bodies inside the tent. Beneath their own thin blanket Kyle slept contented on his side, while Sharn sat cross legged, watching Abigail's face. When Abigail realised that, she thought she must have looked very slow and stupid, just lying there and pretending to feel respectable, staring at the ceiling.

Honestly, Abigail didn't know what to say to her. Chopper's resting hand was still on her left thigh, and though she was being watched, Abigail just didn't want to remove it. Not yet. It was reminding her of what she had done, and she was afraid that if she removed it she would soon begin to wonder if she had dreamt it after all.

Sharn broke the pregnant silence for her. She sounded as uncertain and conflicted as she looked. "Why -her-, Abby?"

It was a simple question. Understandable, since neither of them liked Chopper all that much. But it shattered Abigail's confidence, and guilt filled the gaps that were left behind.

"You wouldn't have," Abigail whispered, looking away. "Who would you have liked it to be?"

Sharn didn't know, and said as much. "But I don't get it. I just don't."

Abigail felt the need to justify herself, and to explain how different Chopper had been that night, but it would have been a lie. Chopper hadn't been different at all. She had just been a wonderful lover. Not that Abigail had anyone else to judge her against, but she had at last been -with- Abigail, instead of against her.

She didn't get a chance to articulate that though. Their whispering had been enough to wake both Chopper and Kyle from their sleep. Or maybe they had already been awake a while, and leaving their partners to think.

"You don't have to 'get it'," Chopper said. She rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow. She finally moved her hand from Abigail's body, and Abigail felt even guiltier for wishing she hadn't. Was that kind of thinking betraying Sharn's expectations of her? It wasn't even any of her business, but Sharn's opinions mattered to her. And that wasn't a good thing to be thinking while lying naked in Chopper's bed.

"Believe it or not," Chopper finished, "you're not involved."

She then looked down to Abigail's flushing face, and took her chin in her fingers. "Good morning, Abby."

So saying she leant down a placed a far too simple kiss on Abigail's lips.

Abigail let her. She had already made up her mind. Chopper might be a terrible person at times, but she was deeper than that. If Chopper would treat her like a human being, and was capable of loving her as one, then Abigail would not turn away. She had felt so small and weak and lost after the battle, once the chalky and aromatic drug she had taken had been purged from her body. She had longed for someone to hold, be it as a parent, child, or lover, just to let her cry out that weakness.

Chopper had done more than that. Just like Erin had said, Chopper had made her feel like the most special person in the world. With that inside her, Abigail's courage and determination had been restored. She was not weak. She was as good as anyone else, and what was more, there was no reason to prove it. That was where she had gone wrong before. She had been out to prove herself against a benchmark that was simply unsuited to her.

So who cared what the benchmark was, or how high it was perched? In Chopper's arms it had not mattered at all. And even if Chopper would soon tire of her, just having her there for a while was all that Abigail would need. A last little support, while she shored up her confidence.

"Chopper?" she said. "We're all friends here."

Chopper looked at her, before giving Sharn an amused glance. "Really now?"

"Yes, really," Abigail repeated. "And does that kiss mean that we're still pretending?"

"You still have to pretend? I'm hurt." Chopper said it with that smirk of hers plastered across her face.

"Only a little, I hope." Abigail looped her arms around Chopper's back affectionately. She didn't want Chopper to harden again just yet.

On the other side of the tent Kyle did the same thing to Sharn, holding her from behind.

"Hey, Sia. It's all good, right?"

A pause, that made Abigail hold her breath without knowing it.

"Yeah. All good, I guess." She stared at Chopper, holding Kyle's hand over her chest. "Just don't be fucking about, okay."

Chopper replied only with a smile and a wink.

Abigail knew the score. She probably knew it better than Chopper did, given the confidence the older woman seemed filled with. If Abigail had asked her, she suspected that Chopper would have said nothing about letting her go, or growing bored of her. That didn't seem to be her way. Her confidence in their sexual attraction was what made her seductive side so powerful. But that was more than okay for now. Abigail would undoubtedly need more harsh guidance as well, and her morals were far tighter than Chopper's. Maybe too tight?

So neither of them was perfect, but what was wrong with that?

---

The morning lacked any sense of urgency, for which everyone was grateful to some degree. They could all bask in the warm morning sun, clutching the last of the powdered coffee that Lilis had allowed to make themselves human again, now that the bloodshed, adrenaline and looting was a full day behind them. Most were happy to go without breakfast for once and either didn't bother to hunt up some lizards or conserved their rations for the trip home.

Abigail wasn't one of them though. She hadn't eaten that night, so even the bland root paste that Chopper offered her was better than nothing. Rathley wasn't about to go without his morning intake of reptile meat either, and despite his injuries took fifteen minutes out to find himself a nice, fat iguana. Maybe he was gripped by a sudden pang of camaraderie for a fellow injured soul, because he gave his leftovers to Kirren.

She was in much worse shape though. She accepted the food graciously, but her thanks were not reflected on her face. She just picked at the carcass with her teeth, chewing each strip of meat without any sense of enjoyment. Abigail was gripped by the terrible desire to ask if she was alright. But of course she wasn't. Her left arm was missing, replaced by a heavily bandaged stump.

In fact, as soon as Chopper had emerged from their tent she had made the young woman her first priority, and unloaded another syringe of painkillers into Kirren's shoulder. It had allowed the woman to stop cringing from the pain, but evidently that pain was all that had been keeping her depression at bay.

"Umm, Sharn?"

Sharn looked at Abigail a moment. She was still obviously affected by what Abigail and Chopper had done, but she did at least reply. "Yes?"

Abigail was grateful. "Is she going to be okay?"

Sharn looked toward Kirren, slumped against her rock and paying them no attention at all. "Well, I think she'll get over it, if that's what you're asking."

She also knew that wasn't what Abigail had been getting at, and told her so. "But she'll have trouble with her rifle. No-one tries to aim one with one hand. Maybe she'll find a way to work around that, but I think she'll be looking for a new line of work."

It made sense, but it was also very depressing. Kirren was very knowledgeable about how to go about Merc jobs, and dealing with raiders in particular. "Maybe she can do what Lilis does? Negotiate, or maybe teach people about dealing with raiders?"

Sharn didn't look convinced, but she nodded all the same. "Yeah, maybe so."

And that was the end of the conversation. It hurt Abigail that they couldn't just chat, and that Sharn couldn't offer her past comforts, but then maybe Abigail had gone beyond that now. Even apart from Abigail's sexuality, Sharn didn't approve of her tryst with Chopper, and Abigail would have to deal with that. Hell, Abigail would have to deal with whether she approved herself. After all, it wasn't attraction of mutual compatibility or anything sensible like that. Abigail wanted to see more of Chopper's wonderful and amorous side, and Chopper wanted... whatever it was that Chopper wanted. It must have been more than just the sex, or else she would not have left Erin behind her.

Abigail decided not to think any more about -that-. Right now it was one more worry that she didn't need. Instead she finished her unpleasant breakfast and watched as the more responsible survivors packed away their things and loaded up the carts. As before, the second was delegated the corpse duty, only this time there was only one body.

"Damn! This bastard's heavy!" Bason grunted as he, Kyle, Harris and the driver all dragged the super mutant around to the waiting cart. Once they actually hefted it up there, the monster's body would fill it almost completely.

"At least he hasn't started to rot yet," the driver said. He was evidently trying to look on the bright side. Either that or it was a morbid premonition of what he would have to put up with during his return trip home.

Not that he would have to worry. Abigail knew that those monsters didn't decay, at least not so quickly, and she told them as much. It seemed to put the driver's mind at greater ease.

---

"Chopper?"

The medic looked up briefly from where she knelt in the back of the mutant's cart, while Abigail walked alone behind. It looked like Chopper was rather enjoying the chance to examine the dead brute.

"Just so I know... How mad -are- they going to be that I killed it?"

It was silly that she was feeling guilt over the murder, this murder in particular, but with nothing else to do but walk and think it had started to prey on her mind.

"Who knows?" Chopper answered with a shrug. Maybe she had expected it to be a more important question. "Lilis might be pissed right now, but the Brotherhood must be fucking ecstatic. It'll have saved them from having to bother themselves."

"But is that a bad thing?"

"It just doesn't strike me as a good idea to get involved with a group that'll shoot you in the back for the sake of a fuel cell."

That struck Abigail as pretty hypocritical. "Jassic was stealing the Hearts' boots."

Chopper gave her an amused smile. "I wouldn't get too involved with him either."

Abigail frowned. "It's not possible to have a sensible conversation with you after all, is it?"

Again, Chopper didn't seem to care. If anything, she was thinking that Abigail's pouting was cute. "Okay, say Golway -does- take issue with this great lump's death. What will he do about it?"

"I don't know," Abigail replied. "That's what worries me."

Chopper sighed, sounding disappointed. "Seriously, think about it a moment, Abby. We have fixed his problem, we get paid, he gets to worry about what it might mean afterwards. The fact that he hasn't taken it upon himself to shoot Rathley yet should tell you something about the man. He's not one for rash action or anger. That's something you could learn from him, for that matter."

"So you -do- think I should have let that monster live?"

"It would have made things more interesting," Chopper quipped, "but I was thinking about you and Lilis. It's never a good idea to hit your boss, and you were raring for another swing at her again yesterday. That was plain stupid."

"I'm sorry, I was angry. I had a right to be, both times!"

"Maybe so, but a less stable person might have shot you for it. Sure, you have a lot to be angry about - vault getting torn up and everything, being put through Rathley's shit - but you need to manage that anger. Put that into your fights, like you did against this guy."

She tapped the dead mutant's green hide. "You physically jumped on him for god's sake. Evidently that kind of recklessness works for you, but you took the same anger out on the one woman who saved our asses at the Diamond Ring."

It was true. "It just happened," Abigail finally said, though afterwards she thought it sounded a little lame.

"So learn to harness it. You think I could unload my gun into someone if I wasn't angry enough to kill them right then and there? Would you have leaped on this guy if you weren't mad as hell? Though incidentally," she added, "that was really fucking stupid, but that's par for the course with you and gunfights, isn't it?"

"It didn't seem like I had much choice at the time."

Chopper raised and eyebrow. "Well, at least you didn't die. I'd have missed out on a -very- good thing if you had."

Abigail found herself blushing at the sudden and unexpected flirt. "... Yeah. I would have too."

"So," she said, changing the subject for the sake of her embarrassment, "do you know what it is yet?"

"Nope," Chopper said simply. "I can't even tell what sex it is, and it sure as hell isn't human. Or not any more, anyway. But it's not a ghoul either. At least they look sort of human when you cut them open. This guy's got the basic organ structure right, but he's all the wrong shapes when you find them."

Abigail wasn't interested enough to want to visualise that. "Won't they be mad if you cut him up too much?"

"Eh, I'm sure the Brotherhood would've done it anyway, so I might as well ruin their fun."

"Are they really that bad? Initiate Harris seems nice enough."

Chopper just gave her a look. "Why don't you ask him?"

---

Initiate Harris was, by all accounts, a nice enough man. He might have looked thick in comparison to the more cautious and wary castes of the Merc faces around him, but if anything he was better educated than any of them. As Abigail knew, an academic education was hardly of the greatest use out in the desert, but like her he was more intelligent than he appeared to be. The fact that he had already deactivated the laser gun he had confiscated meant that it was now useless to anyone but himself, and most of the Mercs could respect that. His academics, like Abigail's, just happened not to be applicable most of the time.

And he did not seem inconsiderate in the way Chopper painted him either. As the journey went on he was one of the few, along with Chopper and Sharn, who continued to check on Kirren and make sure that she was not too uncomfortable in the back of the wagon with them. The raider hunter was reluctant to talk to anyone, but she did at least seem to appreciate their concern, however unwarranted she claimed it to be.

But... "Of course, it had to die. Now our scribes can study it, so that we can fight them better in the future."

... he was open about the fact when Abigail asked.

"Had we not managed to kill it," the Brotherhood man went on, "it would have taken our lives instead. That we took as many casualties as we did is a travesty. That -thing-," he said, stressing the word, "has to be the greatest mutant threat to us in the entire Mid-Waste."

"And just how many mutant threats are there out here?" Chopper asked, not looking up from Abigail's textbook. She was done with her studies on the real corpse for now, and Jassic and Bason had drawn walking duty for the afternoon, giving her and Abigail their seats.

It was also the first thing she had said to the Brotherhood man, and several of them noticed that fact all too clearly. Except Initiate Harris himself.

"-Every- mutant is a threat," he replied. Abigail was surprised by how serious he sounded. "One way or the other. Those that can will contaminate our gene pool. Those that can't will use their weakness to hang us with our own compassion, or use their strength to destroy us."

He looked straight at Abigail. "Your ghouls will be the death of you, vault girl. Just like the whole of Corva."

"Wait, you can't put them in the same bracket as that monster!" Abigail replied, stunned beyond belief. "They're harmless! They're the -victims- up here!"

Rathley chuckled, though without as much humour as usual, as he saved Harris the effort of explaining. "You haven't seen a ghoul beat an armed man to death bare handed yet, Abby. They're just as bad as the rest of us, give 'em a chance."

"They are disease carriers and carrion eaters," Harris said, without Rathley's ironic levity. "And they are sucking up your resources and your guilt when they require neither. They are corrupting you from within."

"They're not bad people!" Abigail argued back. "And they don't make people sick! Do they?"

She turned to Chopper for confirmation. The doctor looked up from her book briefly. "Not in Corva they don't. Elsewhere..."

"Abigail," Sharn finally said, "ghouls can be bad people as well. After what they've gone through, sometimes they just lose it."

"What they intend is irrelevant," Initiate Harris said, as if it would clarify the matter. "A mutant is a mutant. Your sociable ghouls should consider themselves lucky that they cannot breed, or else Mr Golway would not allow them to remain in his town."

Chopper chuckled at that, and drew their stares, but she did not elaborate. Maybe Harris was being too naive, or else the Brotherhood were simply being lied to for the sake of Corva's security. From the look on Kyle and Chopper's faces, Abigail guessed that the latter was probably the case. Good, she thought, if that was the kind of attitude these Brotherhood of Steel people had. She never would have thought that the most well taught people of the wasteland could also be the most bigoted!

"So where does that leave our little Lilis then?" Kirren asked. It was a rather spiteful question, but then the woman was in no fit state for consideration to be her main concern. Even though Abigail could not tell which side the Merc woman was taking, Kirren looked thoroughly sick of the debate.

Rathley raised a curious eyebrow in Harris' direction. "Now there is a question." He reached over the empty water barrel behind him up to the driving seats, and gave Lilis a smack on the rear that Abigail assumed was supposed to be playful.

Lilis did not retaliate with her boot, though she easily could have done. Abigail honestly didn't know whether that was a commendable show of restraint on her part, or restraint taken too far. After all, Lilis had not seemed like a woman to suffer fools gladly.

Harris didn't bat an eyelid at the comment. "She has apparently proved her usefulness to Mr Golway, and she cannot have children. I doubt she would throw away her only freedoms, however dubious, to go out of her way just to prove the necessity of removing Corva's mutant population."

"Fuck you, -Initiate-," Lilis replied, angered, but without the threat of violence.

Abigail just couldn't understand it, and her outrage gave way to absolute confusion. "How can you say that..?" she asked the armed and armoured man.

Harris returned her look levelly, and with neither anger nor apology. "It's the truth."

---

Abigail did not quite get over her surprise even by the time night had fallen. She had kept thinking back to her afternoon with the ghouls of Corva, and how hospitable they had been to her. They had gone out of their way to make her feel welcomed, to the point that Abigail had thought several of them were trying much too hard in order to strike up a friendship. Christian had just been charming in his own way, but the generous ghoul Albert and poor, rag-lipped Celia had seemed so grateful for the honest friendly company, as Abigail had been.

Abigail had never considered that anyone could lump them in the same category as the violent super mutant. Or even with Lilis. She could understand why the ghouls were disliked - they looked hideous, and reminded people both of how vulnerable their own bodies were, and of their own mortality - but for there to be a whole 'mutant' subclass? That was just unfair. Mutation was a part of evolution, and in this wasteland people -had- evolved, if only in their mentality for survival.

And however little Abigail wanted to admit it, it made her feel guilty over how she had treated Lilis up to that point. Even if it had been inadvertent, she had made Lilis admit to her own status as a mutant in front of all the Mercs at the Diamond Ring, which in turn must have been why Rathley had talked about it openly that afternoon, instead of keeping his vague whisperings out of the woman's earshot.

Now, with almost half of their party dead, Lilis did not sit with company when the time came to set up camp for the night. She ate with the two drivers, but retired to her small canvas shelter quickly. She did not hide why either. She was still furious at Harris and Rathley for their behaviour that afternoon, but could do nothing about it. Neither one would listen to criticism, and both could turn any physical objection back around on her. Lilis was intelligent and cunning, but she was no fighter. She did not even carry a weapon.

"Abigail," the woman greeted, as Abigail waited outside the small pyramid of cloth. "What do you need?"

That was allowance enough, and Abigail crawled into the tent, able to sit upright only because she was not as tall as Lilis. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Abigail said. "I was out of line, and I didn't mean to give away your secret back then. I didn't know you were, you know, different."

Lilis' expression remained blank, but her voice was softer than Abigail expected. "Not as 'different' as most. And there was no secret. If they didn't know, it's because they didn't need to."

"Oh. I'm still sorry though."

Lilis sat up and hunched over so as not to hit her head on the top pole of the tent. As Abigail had spoken her eyes had turned keen, as if Abigail was being analysed.

"You are playing a dangerous game, Abigail Iseley."

Abigail blinked. "What? I'm not..."

"Not regarding this. But think about where you are, and who you are with. You are allied to worrying people, and it was clear today that sleeping with Chopper has softened your attitude towards her further still. Now you are pitying a prostitute for the deformities that have guaranteed her a high paying line of work instead of having to take on any customer possible."

"I didn't mean it like that," Abigail objected, but still Lilis didn't actually show any sign of being offended. No more than she had already been by the day.

"I appreciate the sentiment," Lilis clarified, "but I have no use for pity. Right now, for a sensitive girl like yourself, you should be thinking about the people who you -can- help, not worrying about someone who is being paid to deal with much worse people than you.

"No doubt Chopper is waiting for you again tonight. While I know little of her personally, she has a reputation for taking advantage of her women at every opportunity. And of course your sniper friend has been looking less than happy."

Abigail could understand what Lilis was getting at. "I know. And Kirren needs someone to help her, and Rathley probably had his only real friend killed... But this is what everyone keeps saying to me - that's all stuff that they'll have to deal with on their own, right? If I have to do anything, then I should make up for my own mistakes first, and... I don't like what you did, but I know why you did it. I should have been thanking you, not getting mad."

Lilis nodded, and finally accepted Abigail's apology. "If that is the way you intend to deal with it."

Abigail nodded in reply, trying to smile in a friendly way. "Maybe I'll find a better way later."

Right then though, she had to follow her heart and allow herself her selfishness, or else the wide open space and the sickening bloodshed would drive her insane. She needed just a little confirmation that she was still human.

That was why she returned to her own large tent after leaving Lilis. Sharn was standing outside, but didn't say anything as Abigail approached. Likewise, however much she wanted to, she didn't speak to Sharn either. Neither of them wanted to think about it, but for entirely different reasons.

As Abigail was about to pass her, Sharn sighed. "Me and Kyle will be coming to bed later... So I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Abigail replied awkwardly. "Sleep well, Sharn."

So Sharn left her to it as Abigail pulled back the tent flap and stepped inside. Chopper had her table out and was using it to put her medical tin and supplies back in order, but Abigail didn't let her finish. She reached for Chopper's cheeks as the woman turned, and pulled herself up to meet the older woman's lips.

"No need to pretend, right?" Abigail bit her lip at how hasty she sounded, before leaning forward and kissing her deeply again.

Chopper smiled as their lips and tongues met, and pulled Abigail around to lean her against the medical table. Abigail did not resist, and instead returned Chopper's sudden, strong embrace.

"Sia and Kyle will be coming soon," Chopper whispered against her ear, as if the thought was meant to tease her.

Abigail shook her head as her hands began to roam over Chopper's clothes. "Not yet."

Chopper grinned and pulled back to face Abigail properly, her hand tracing slowly down Abigail's back. "Good."

---

Abigail chose to walk again the following morning. Breakfast had been subdued for her, and not only because it had been so meagre. More and more the Mercs were regarding her not with curiosity or derisive compassion for a little girl out of her depth, but with amused and knowing eyes. 'Maybe she's not so sheltered after all,' some seemed to say, and 'That's a turn up for the books,' whispered others. Even Kirren, tired and hurting in the back of the cart, looked at her as if she wanted to shake her head and ask where all those morals and ideals of hers had gone.

Or maybe it was just Abigail's own paranoia. None of them actually said anything, but Abigail didn't need the worry of their stares as they rode through the blank, wasted desert.

At least those she walked with knew it all in full. Sharn and Kyle didn't have to stare to make their opinions known, and Abigail had hoped that it would give her a chance to repair some of the damage that her newfound relationship with Chopper had done.

Not that it would be so easy.

"You sounded like you had fun last night." It was a simple observation from Sharn, but there was a hint of accusation there. It wasn't new to Abigail, she was well aware how easily she must had alerted their camp to her lovemaking.

But she had already come up with her reply to such an obvious remark. "You did as well."

Sharn didn't deny it in the least, for which Abigail was glad. Sharn had obviously been letting out her frustrations just as energetically, and Abigail would have been lying if she had said it hadn't heightened her own experiences. How disgusting was that?

"Kyle doesn't treat me like trash."

"Chopper didn't either," was Abigail's simply rebuttal, but it wasn't entirely honest. Chopper -had- treated her roughly, in those weeks before their night together, just as she did everyone else. But that outward attitude was exactly the reason Abigail found herself attracted. She had been allowed behind the roughness and cruel humour, into Chopper's rakish and flirtatious fantasies. "Not as a... partner."

Sharn seemed to be trying to accept that, but looked far from convinced. "That makes up for her being so unpleasant the rest of the time, then?"

"I've been trying not to think about that," Abigail replied honestly. Then she corrected herself, now that it was finally brought to her attention. "Actually, she would be like that anyway. I guess this way I'm just taking the chance to see the nice side of her as well."

"That's like saying I'd sleep with Rathley just because he's supposed to be great in bed. It doesn't make him any less of a bastard."

"That's not fair," Abigail said, unable to find a comeback. "I mean, her personality is a bit twisted and she seems to have a bad sense of humour, but she's also a doctor who goes out of her way to help people! You said so yourself!"

"And to be fair," Kyle added, finally speaking up, "Chopper wouldn't shoot you in the back for the sake of her own skin."

Abigail looked at him in worry. "Rathley would?"

The gunman just nodded. "If he had to. I'm surprised he didn't take it out on you after you put a knife in his arm."

"Hey!" Sharn interrupted, looking betrayed. "Why do you keep taking her side!?"

Kyle gave a glace towards Abigail, and then back to his lover. "For one - Chopper's less inclined to get nasty when she's getting laid. Don't tell me you didn't notice the difference after she dropped Erin."

"Well, yeah, but..."

"And besides, it might do Abby some good having to deal with someone like her up close."

It wasn't very flattering, but it was a vindication of Abigail's feelings. "Thanks Kyle. I think Chopper can be more pleasant, if she wants to be. I know she can, or I never would have wanted to stay with her."

Sharn sighed, and accepted it. "She's going to hurt you, one way or the other," she warned. "And when she wants to hurts someone she'll be worse than Rathley's deathclaws."

"She's not that cruel," Abigail replied. "Not the Chopper I was with."

Kyle was non-committal on that point. "As long as she doesn't have a reason to be."

But Abigail wouldn't be deterred. Chopper had an unkind sense of humour at times, but she couldn't seriously be so vicious about it the way Sharn had implied. Not the Chopper who had so expertly guided them both to heaven and back last night.

---

Come the afternoon and Corva was already within sight, much to Abigail's surprise. She had to check her PipBoy's map again just to be sure, but they were returning in a much straighter line than the way they had headed out.

"We did waste most of a day going over those raider tracks," Kyle said. "Then again, you were playing with your computer or sleeping through the last leg."

At the front of the caravan the driver disagreed. "No, we're actually taking the -long- way back. We'd've been back by before nightfall if we'd made a proper line straight home, but Golway wanted us to scout out the area properly while we're at it so we're finishing our circle around the east side.

"That quickly?" Abigail marvelled. "I guess I wasn't paying enough attention."

"You had things on your mind," Sharn said simply, but Abigail smiled in gratitude for a valid excuse. She -had- been worried about the fight, and rightly so.

"And our brahmin aren't as slow as they look," the driver added, sounding proud of his animals.

"So," Jassic said from his perch, "What do you think the pay's likely to get to, eh? Even with this baby," he patted the obscene shotgun he had bought off Stephanie, "I was ready to snuff it once I saw that bastard."

He jerked his thumb towards the corpse cart and its single occupant. "So what do you say, Lilis? You gonna talk up a decent price for us?"

Sitting with the driver Lilis shook her head. "I won't have to. Once the Mayor sees that body he should be rather happy to pay whatever you ask."

Jassic looked very satisfied by that. "Damn... Maybe it's about time I got me some hard caps. I've already bought the best gun in town!" Then he lost the top off his enthusiasm. "Feh, must be nice to be rich enough to pay out like that."

In the corner of the cart Chopper looked up from her book, and closed the page entitled, 'Venting your Spleen: The Surgeon's Way'.

"You think so?" she asked the jealous mercenary. "Having a town's wealth at his fingertips doesn't seem to help Golway sleep."

"Why the hell shouldn't it?" Jassic asked in return. "He must be richer than fucking God to pay us for these death-runs. Plenty to eat, personal police squad, he can pamper his little dyke daughter to her heart's content... Hell, he bought in a Brotherhood Initiate! That's one secure fucking man!"

Chopper only laughed. "Ha! Plenty to eat, but only when there's food to buy after the winds come in off the Cobalt Line. A personal police squad so dubious he knows which ones are worth killing off on dangerous jobs."

"Hey, we're not all corrupt like Anton was, Chopper!" the driver retorted, but Chopper kept going.

"A daughter he has to wall up inside her own personal library, only to have her start outsmarting him what with all that educational material at her disposal, and it still leaves her bored enough to keep chasing someone he really doesn't like!"

She smirked at Jassic's simple-mindedness, and pointed to Initiate Harris. "And I doubt getting -him- in was a matter of money."

Harris frowned at her tone, but agreed. "This was a matter of mutual information gathering, and of survival. Given the outcome it was a very important agreement to have been reached. There is a lot that the Elders, and every town of the Mid Waste, will have to decide upon now."

Kirren stared at him without much enthusiasm. "Must be an honour for an Initiate. All that tech and blood in one outing."

In contrast Harris regarded her with the compassion that he had been unable to show when talking about the ghouls. "Believe me, I do appreciate your losses. But what we have won from it will keep us aware and alive when more of these super mutants appear. Would you rather not have known?"

Kirren didn't answer, but she obviously didn't like what she was hearing, though whether it was the truth behind his words or the compassion in them that the one armed woman couldn't stomach, Abigail didn't know.

But then, that wasn't what she was most worried about. The moment Erin's name had been mentioned she had been forced to think about what she could do about her when they returned. If last time was any indication Erin would be waiting for Chopper's return and she doubted that she would be able to hide the fact that, in becoming closer to Chopper, she had done exactly what she had assured the girl she would not do. Abigail knew that she had a terrible poker face. She was used to admitting her guilt on the spot, as she always had inside the vault, so she had never needed one.

Honestly, she doubted she would have to wait before one of the Mercs spilled her secret to the mayor's daughter. Either Chopper or herself would give it away, and that would be that. So what could she do to try and repair the damage? She didn't want Erin to be hurt. If anything she liked the girl. She was rather too intense, but it had been nice to meet someone who was, like her, more at home -without- a gun in her hands.

The trouble was she couldn't think of a single thing that would not simply upset or anger the girl further. As welcome as the sight of the town was, Abigail wished that they would not arrive quite so quickly.

So of course they were there before Abigail knew it. Once again no fanfare welcomed them, but this time Abigail was thankful for that. Lilis had taken the trouble to cover the body of the super mutant with a folded tent, so that the huge corpse would not alarm the few people who were around to see them arrive.

And, right on cue, Erin was there to greet them outside the police building, even before her father had been notified of their return. Maybe the swiftness of her appearance was proportional to the level of danger in the job, but it made Abigail's stomach churn to think that the girl hadn't even waited inside until after the debriefing.

The way she smiled only made Abigail feel worse.

"Welcome back," Erin beamed. Her long skirt flowed with her footsteps. "I am glad you have all returned well. When I saw how sparse your group was I began to worry..."

She looked at Kirren as the girl rode past, still in the cart. "Or, nearly all of you. It was as bad as you said, Abigail?"

Abigail swallowed hard, because she thought that if she spoke her larynx might leap out of her throat. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, it was."

To her distress Kyle, Sharn and Rathley did not stay, but only greeted the girl in passing before they followed the others to where the Mayor was waiting. And the smirk on Rathley's face, as well as Jassic's as he passed, were telling.

"Erin, you can stop now," Chopper said, frank as always.

"Oh?" Erin replied. "You know just why I am happy to see you back."

But Erin had not been blind to Jassic's smile though, or to Abigail's discomfort. "Though if there is something I should be aware of, now is the time, Chopper. Your friends usually prefer to watch your little displays of denial. We always make such good comedy for them."

Chopper looked at her, more serious than usual. "Do you want to embarrass yourself out here, Erin?"

"Why should I stop now? Well, Chopper?"

Had she already realised? Abigail didn't know, but even after fighting for her life on more than one occasion, going as far as to kill her attackers, she couldn't bear to let Erin go on like this without saying anything.

"Erin, I'm..." And her wits evaporated half way through.

"...sorry."

It sounded as pathetic as Abigail felt, but it had done what it needed to. Erin stared at her for a long time, and then at Chopper even longer. Abigail silently begged Chopper to say something to break the tension, but evidently the older woman thought better of it.

Erin's composure never broke. Without a sound, or even a quiver from her pale lips, a tear flung itself from Erin's eye as the only evidence of her grief. When she moved to slap Abigail, the vault dweller let it happen, and the hit sent her head reeling. It was perverse; she was slowly becoming used to the terror of being shot at, but this was the first time she had ever been hit in earnest and in person. It hurt much deeper than the red mark on her cheek showed.

Beside her Chopper caught Erin's arm after the strike, and held it firm until Erin's emotional eyes winced. "That's enough, Erin. Give it up already."

"How could you?" Erin accused her old lover, her voice cracking, but Chopper just let her free without an answer. The girl stood staring for a moment longer before she turned her back and silently walked away. To Abigail it looked as though that walk was a terrible one for her.

Then, intruding on Abigail's guilt came the strong reassurance of Chopper's arm around her waist, guiding her to follow the girl into the building. "Don't worry about her, Abby. It's not her business, and it hasn't been for a long time."

Abigail was grateful for the touch, but she knew Chopper was wrong. If for no other reason; by going back on her word Abigail had made sure that it had become Erin's business.

---

The debrief that had followed had in fact been very brief, even more so than on Abigail's first mission. After a short discussion between Lilis, Initiate Harris and Mayor Golway the exorbitant payments for their services had been meted out, but little else was said or disclosed about where either the Mayor or the Brotherhood would be going from there. 'The Threat' was mentioned only in passing, and the dead not at all.

And none of them seemed to care either. They had their money and their loot, and that was the end of it. Until next time, anyway. Chopper had even said that, if anyone was to count only in caps, Abigail would now be among the town's richest inhabitants. True, she had almost no property either, and that was the true measure of wealth, but she could now change that at any time if she wanted.

That wasn't what Abigail wanted right then though. She wanted rest, comfort, and the weight of her wrongdoings off her mind. She felt guilty about Erin, and about Kirren's injury, and about Seb and Old Bert being dead. It seemed that the less the others showed about any of that, the more Abigail had to feel it was her responsibility, whether or not that guilt was justified.

She didn't let it depress her though. She now knew these people too well to get upset about their backwards priorities. She would have expected Sharn to be so much more sensitive and affected by what had happened to them all, but Sharn had made her peace with the dead back at the site of the bloodshed. She had personally buried every body, friend and foe alike, so that their souls could rest easily. Kyle had assisted her even though he probably saw no point in it. For him, aiding his girlfriend was what would keep his mind clear.

Either that or he genuinely felt no guilt. He -was- a gun fighter, through and through. He probably had a much more simple view of the world than Sharn and Abigail did. The wasteland was a less dangerous place now that it had lost the people that he had killed. Abigail had no doubt that it was the same for Rathley, except he might not even care about the end result. He was alive, and he had been paid. The single slip of paper he had been given looked as though it had been worth more to him than any amount of bent bottle caps.

But he had grieved for Old Bert, in his own way. After being patched up he had claimed a bottle of lethal old scotch at the battleground, and drunk it alone, sitting beside the old pest exterminator's grave. Abigail had seen him even if the others had been occupied with more important matters. She had been grieving as well, even as she had looted the dead. Stealing their possessions herself had made her feel dirty, and she had almost run away entirely afterwards. Except that she had found no-one to run to, except Chopper.

But what was the point in hating herself for any of that? Her life now was not one of a comfortable technician, but of a wasteland mercenary and scavenger. If she did not take from the dead, what she had fought for would be taken by others. And it was not as if she had stolen from those who had meant something to her. The blasted corpses of the raiders had held what she wanted, and what she would probably need to survive up there in the desert.

And she was surviving. She was surviving very well. She had allies she could trust, if only a few, and she had the caps to make sure that she would stay fed and living in relative comfort. She had made her mistakes, but she now vowed to herself that she would make up for them as best as she could. It might not be easy, and she might not be forgiven, but she needed to try. Even if she could only find a little empathy for the people of Corva as a whole, they did not deserve to be left to fend for themselves against the murderers and monsters she had been thrown up against, and people like Erin, Stephanie, Christian and Celia deserved it even less.

She was broken out of her reverie by a voice from outside the hall. Abigail had collected her pay quickly, and was now waiting alone for her companions to finish bartering with the others for more mundane supplies.

"You might dress the part, but you are not like these people," Initiate Harris said from the doorway that led further into the police building. "You do not act their way, or fight their way, or even think their way, do you?"

Abigail could not deny it, but she didn't turn to face the Brotherhood man. "No, I don't think I do. But they are my friends."

"Friends? I have heard how you have been treated by them. Your skills and education could be put to better use."

"I want to help them."

"You can," Harris insisted, "and you do not need to be on the battlefield to do so. If you do have the education that I suspect you do, I could put in a petition on your part for entry into the Brotherhood. Science, technology, medicine, even social relations with these people, what are your strongest skills?"

"... I was going to be a mechanic."

"Repair and maintenance," Harris said with approval. "Those are vital skills here in the wasteland. No-one can afford to have their water systems degrading, or their weapons malfunctioning. Our chapter of the Brotherhood does not recruit, but neither would our Elders turn a blind eye to talents that would be lost if you ended up like them. You could be an exception. I am certain."

That was a temptation that Abigail could not afford. With the kind of technology that she had heard they possessed, the Brotherhood might be able to go a long way to giving her some of her old life back. Maybe they lived in a vault, or in a modern town without all the sand and the blood sports and the townsfolk who -wanted- to remain oblivious to the politics and dangers around them. People who cared for nothing but their own skins, their caps and alcohol, and for as long a break as possible before the changing of the radioactive winds.

But she could no more abandon Sharn and Kyle and Chopper as she could have left her parents and her friends within Vault 42. And she could never turn on the ghouls who had show her such friendship even despite how poorly they were regarded by the normal people of the town.

"I won't leave them. I don't care what you think. If I'm here, then I can help them."

She heard Harris sigh behind her. "You can try, but you won't succeed. They will turn you into one of their own before you can change them. But," he added, "I will wish you luck. With those people, you'll need all of it you can get."

Even as she heard his boots turning to leave, Abigail felt a grim smile appearing on her face. "It doesn't matter. Lady Luck and I... We've never been on speaking terms."

---

"Still brooding?" Chopper asked as she, at long last, returned to their inn room.

"I wasn't brooding," Abigail replied, less than pleased. "It's called responsible guilt."

Beside her on the rickety, over-made bed, Kyle laughed. "You don't want to be fostering any of that, Abby. It isn't conductive to good health."

That didn't sound right coming from a man as otherwise considerate as Kyle, but she let it go for the sake of her sanity, and instead turned her attention to the oversized bag that Chopper was carrying. Just like Sharn, Kyle and Rathley, she had evidently claimed back all her worldly possessions from the scavenging company locker as well.

"Is the storage fee really that bad?" she asked.

Chopper just shrugged and sat down on her other side, giving her a rakish wink. "Charging us for taking up a few square feet of locker space? I can think of better people to be spending my caps on."

Abigail hoped she was trying to be sweet, because it was working if the heat that filled her cheeks was anything to go by! "Err, right." Maybe we can get away with a little open affection, she justified to herself, and she took Chopper's arm as the woman began to re-pack. "So, why are you all really checking your stuff out? Are we leaving?"

Honestly she hoped not, because she still had too many things to say to too many people. Besides, "I haven't got back at Rathley for the pigrat thing yet."

Rathley looked up from his place on the floor, where he was checking over his two dozen or so shells of ammunition. "I wouldn't think too hard about pushin' your luck, Sugar. I'm workin' on a nice scar here thanks to your throwin' arm. "

True enough, he still wore the bandage around the arm that she had tossed a knife into, and Abigail suddenly felt ashamed about entertaining the idea at all. "I said I was sorry. I just... I wasn't thinking too straight then."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Chopper said, grinning all the while as she tossed her own pile of loose bullets into a small pouch at the bottom of her bag, with far less care than the other three had shown. "We -were- thinking about moving on in a bit, but not for a day or two."

"I'd have thought you would want to make the most of your freedom to work here," Abigail said, still leaning on Chopper's side, but Chopper shrugged.

"Eh, we'll be back this way soon enough. The Cobalt Line's still the best Scav ground out here."

"And I got a few people to see now," Rathley added, sounding satisfied. "I wouldn't want to keep 'em waitin'."

It was a shame, Abigail thought. There was still so much she wanted to do in Corva, and they would be leaving so that Rathley could go and kill people he'd got on the wrong side of. Probably kill, anyway. Maybe it wouldn't come to that, but she had to be realistic. She just hoped that they really did deserve it.

Sharn did at least notice her mood. "Don't worry, Abby-girl. We'll keep him in line, right? But there's not much reason to stay for now. We don't think that Mayor Golway will be asking for more Mercs for a while, and frankly I didn't much like the work."

Kyle agreed. "He is going to be looking at contacting the other towns out south and east. If he can get his foot in the door on this, especially with the Brotherhood of Steel on his side, he will end up being a very important part of whatever they turn up between them about the super mutants. But, logistics isn't out thing. We can leave that to Bason and Jassic."

"And the Scav company isn't hiring for a bit," Sharn continued, "except for surveying work, and that's both boring -and- dangerous around here, what with the radiation levels and all that."

"But," she added, "we've got people to see too, and loose ends to tie up." There was a glint in her eyes as she spoke, which Abigail hadn't seen since Sharn had first found out about her sexual proclivities. "And we wouldn't want Rathley to miss his appointment."

The older man looked up again, immediately suspicious. "Eh? You girls been up to somethin' again?"

Abigail blinked in confusion. "What did they do the first time?"

Chopper didn't answer her, but she did wrap her arm around Abigail and manage to look very satisfied about it. "Well, Sia and myself, we thought that Abby would like to see what a real professional looked like in the rat pen."

"You conniving little fucks!"

Suddenly Abigail was worried about what Chopper and Sharn might have done, especially if it was partly on her behalf. "Chopper? You didn't, did you?"

Chopper just smirked, and Sharn looked just as happy.

"Well, I guess if I could do it, at least you'll have no problem," Abigail said lamely, but she had somewhat missed the point.

"I doubt he will have it quite so easy," Kyle said, looking like he was happy to stay out of this potential disaster area.

"You should haven't have got injured like you did, Abby-girl," Sharn said, "but you were just a beginner."

"So, since Rathley's such an expert," Chopper finished, "he gets to try the expert level!"

The more they said the more worried Abigail felt, and it showed. "So what's expert level?"

"You got me wrestlin' a fuckin' molerat?" Rathley glared. "I still got your goddam stitches in my arm!"

"You're tough, you'll manage," Sharn said, shrugging but also making sure she was out of Rathley's reach. "And it's not like you'd use a spear even if they gave you one."

Now Abigail wore her apology on her face as clear as day. "U-unarmed!? Which one is the molerat again? Moles -are- smaller than pigs, right?"

"It doesn't quite work like that for mole -rats-, Abby," Kyle said, but like the women he didn't seem overly worried either. Which only confused Abigail even more. "Don't worry about the unarmed thing. Rathley's much better at brawling than he is with a knife or spear."

He gave the man a curious look. "He's handled worse."

What didn't calm Abigail's fears was Rathley looking ready to attack them at any moment. "... Alright," he grated out, "eye for an eye, I can understand that. But you'd better win me a damn good share, and I'd better get the same free fucking first aid that dyke did afterwards."

Anigail frowned at him despite her worry. "Don't you dare call me that. I'm trying to be on your side!"

Chopper just smiled at him, still with her hand securely around Abigail's waist. She gave her a squeeze to placate her after Rathley's outburst. "Naturally, old man. You'll get your stimpaks. And don't look like that, Abby. I don't expect I'll like watching it any more than you. I hate rats, remember?"

"It's not the rat I'm worried about!" Abigail objected quietly, though she still frowned at Rathley.

Chopper gave her a quick kiss, a quirk of amusement in her lips at the girl's concern. "Just think of it as furthering your education. Besides, this barbarous place likes a good rat fight. If he wins it will do his wayward reputation a world of good!"

---

"I guess he brought it on himself," Abigail admitted, "but I still feel kind of guilty about it. He did -not- look happy."

She placed her domino at the end of another branching line of numbers, without much caring that it would probably hinder her game as much has help it.

Christian however leapt on her move as fast has his ghoul fingers allowed him to. "Ah, fin'lly! Tha' double five's been burnin' a hole in me pocket for ages!" The he looked up to her as Albert began pondering over his turn. "Don' worry about 'im, Abby. Tha' ol' bastard deserves most'a what he gets, an' it never seems to hurt 'im too much."

Albert agreed. "Ain't the first time he'll have wrassled a rat, either. Back in the day he was a real bruiser, and the years ain't done him over too bad."

Both Nigel and Celia seemed less taken with the idea, but theirs seemed to be the quiet minority, so they remained as such.

"Molerats is dangerous," Nigel said, playing both sides of the argument, "but at least he can throw in the towel if he gets bit or sommut."

"Eh, he ain't gonna let that happen to 'im," Christian shrugged. He picked up his bottle of flat cola and took an awkward swig. "He's better'n that. He knocked ol' Gabs clean out with one hit, remember?"

Nigel nodded. "Yup, that he did."

Albert blinked, staring at his dominoes. "He did?"

"That he did."

Abigail turned to Celia while the unhealthy men reminisced. "Who's Old Gabs?"

"He was onhe of the olhd ghouls," Celia replied. "He died, but he whas olhd even befhore the bhombs."

She smiled sadly to herself, though it looked painful to do so. "Heven we die heventually."

"Yup," Nigel agreed, nodding his head, as if it was a sage's insight. "But Gabs was a real strong old deader. Nobody'd put him out in one before Rathley slugged him."

"Must not have made him too happy, I'd think," Albert agreed.

"If ya've got time to be thinkin' then play a tile already!" Christian picked up one of his own pieces and waved it at Albert. "I'd 'ave time to be growin' a new eyelid before ya've moved!"

"You ain't growing nothin' no time soon you old afro-for-brains."

"Exactly, I ain't, you're bein' so slow!" He sighed and put his tile down again as Albert finally played his piece, and now they waited on Nigel. "You wantin' us to be down at the rat pen with ya', Abby? I don' miss 'em, but these layabouts'd prolly come along too if ya' wanted some moral support or somethin'."

Both Albert and Celia nodded, while Nigel was lost in his decision making.

"You don't have to," Abigail said. "I'm only going because Chopper wants me too."

"Then mhaybe hyou might nheed some supphort hafter all."

Abigail smiled and shook her head. "Really, she's not that bad. Mostly."

That didn't seem to be Celia's concern though. "Hy whill come. Then hwe cahn both be rheminded why hwe have to be thankful to what we don't like."

"Thankful?" Abigail asked, confused. "For the rat fights?"

Christian gave her a grisly smile. "For us, yeah. If they weren' makin' sport outta the rats, who d'ya' think they'd be fightin' instead?"

---

Abigail had expected to be the victim of all manner of emotions at the side of the rat pen, but jealousy had been one that she -hadn't- expected.

"There are lot of people this time, aren't there?"

Beside her Christian nodded. "Yup. Biggest turnout in years I'd reckon, and tha's no small feat!"

"It looks like almost half the town!" was Sharn's quiet exclamation, and she wasn't wrong. The rat pen was large but a crowd of almost two hundred stood around it, all trying to make sure they had a decent view over the shoulders of those in front. Even though they had arrived with Rathley they were still several rows back in the wriggling mass.

In fact, having the five ghouls standing with them made the wait more comfortable. The rest of the townsfolk weren't too keen on getting up close with their green and gory cohabitants. A fact that Albert seemed unexpectedly proud of.

"Wouldn't want a smooth-skin comin' away with bits o' me stuck on them. I ain't that generous to be givin' away me bits and bobs!"

Kyle, Chopper and Celia were more content not to chat while Nigel and Albert started debating the finer points of ghoul etiquette. Chopper in particular was keeping her eyes glued to the makeshift betting table, where a large proportion of her caps had gone. She hadn't wanted to bet, unlike Sharn and Kyle, but she'd had no choice. Rathley wanted to be taking winnings away from this fight, and when she had signed him up she hadn't banked on having to pay for a share of those winnings herself.

At least the molerat was getting a majority of the votes, however slim it was. Then again, some were betting on Rathley from reputation alone. He could, according to some ignorant idiots, take down even a Brotherhood of Steel Paladin with nothing but his bare hands. But many more people had seen molerat fights before, and going in unarmed was the most difficult fight the games offered. Very few people came out intact, even those who had thrown in the towel. Molerats were both larger and faster than their small, bald cousins, and could do a man damage before he could be hauled over the fence to safety.

"ARE YOU READY RAT-FANS?"

The bellow that the announcer got from the mass of fans evidently made him a very happy man. They knew what to expect, so he could get on with it.

"We all know our man today! Love him or loath him, the one and only Rathley is finally taking on his first rat challenge for ten years!"

The crowd roared as Rathley clambered over the sturdy wood and wire fence. All he wore was a grubby white vest, a pair of khaki trousers, his boots, and the expression of a truly professional fighter. He raised his bare fist and the cheers he got from everyone could be heard from one side of town to the other.

Abigail didn't cheer, and to her surprise nor did Chopper. They were the only two people in the entire crowd who were looking for the rat.

"Don' worry none, Abby," Christian beamed. "That ol' fence don' look too tough, but even a molerat'd take a good thirty seconds to burrow through it. That wire 'n' wood's goin' right under the pen, see? It knows not to start diggin' or else the handlers'd start puttin' buckshot in it before it could dig out."

Despite his good intentions it didn't make Abigail feel better.

A soon as he could be heard again, the announcer finished. "And we know who he's up against, right rat-fans?" Another cheer. "We've had her for over a year and no-one's managed to kill her yet, or even claim a win! Mean enough to take the name of our old whorehouse madam, we have Marge!"

Marge did not show herself right away though. Her handlers hauled her up to the side of the pen at the end of three steel poles, and two more flanked her with cattle prods in their hands and long barrelled shotguns on their backs. A wooden ramp was put into place, and the molerat was forced up it until it toppled into the pen with a squeal and a huge thump, and the handlers detached their poles from the animal's collar.

It was only then, as the molerat found its feet inside the pen, that most of them got a good look at it. Calling the pigrat a 'rat' had been pushing it, Abigail had thought. Calling -this- thing a rat, that was plain idiocy.

"That's... That's a -bear-!" Abigail exclaimed. "He'll be killed!"

And yet, even as Christian corrected her, Abigail could see the differences. It -was- smaller than the brown bears she had seen in her vault classes, if only slightly, and its legs looked far less capable of running in bounds the way a bear could. But it was a full four feet tall at the shoulder, and even though its legs were squat and bowed it still ran in fast scampering circles the way the pigrat had done. And while covered in rough, wiry brown hair its rodent-like snout was unmistakable, complete with huge incisors to match the claws on its feet.

Unlike the pigrat this animal obviously knew what was expected of it and didn't bother turning back to take a swipe at the handlers' poles or at the fence. Instead it stood at the side of the pen and shook itself, releasing a cloud of dust from its coarse fur. It let out a short, sharp cry in Rathley's direction, which to Abigail sounded like a warning. It seemed as though the creature knew the pen was supposed to be its territory, and barked out its high pitched warning a few more times, edging forward each time and trying to threaten Rathley out of the pen.

The wastelander didn't budge. He just stood steady as a rock, his fingers open and twitching slightly.

Abigail's breath caught in her throat when the molerat finally charged, but her little sound was drowned out by the cheers of the crowd. Rathley moved only a second later, making sure that he was out of the way when the molerat reached his position and slammed itself into the wall where he had stood.

The section of wooden wall cracked and bent outwards as Marge slammed shoulder first into it, but the wire held it together even as the ripple of the audience pulled back. Rathley made a grab for the molerat's side, but the creature was already turning to face him from its shoulder-side impact into the pen wall.

This wasn't the kind of fight Abigail had expected, as she watched it play out. Rathley couldn't afford to box the creature's nose for fear of the teeth and claws that would have reached him first. Similarly, he couldn't wrestle the creature from the front or it would have torn him open down his sides. What Rathley was trying to do was catch hold if its fur and get himself onto the animal's back, safely out of the way of its stumpy legs, and then attack its head and sides from there.

But that was no small feat. The molerat turned quickly, and soon Rathley's left forearm was pouring blood after he had tried and failed in another grab and had to shield himself with his already bandaged arm. That was what the crowd wanted to see, and they bayed for more as Rathley had to put the distance between himself and the gargantuan rat again.

"He can't really do this, can he?" Abigail asked, unable to take her eyes of the spectacle.

"He can," Kyle replied. "If he doesn't take to long about it."

The problem was that Rathley was not as fast on his feet as the rat, and was relying on the animal's blind savagery to give him an opening to escape or to make a grab. He was also losing blood too rapidly, so he would have to finish it quickly or give in.

"That's not arterial," Chopper commented dryly, "but it looks like I'll be wasting more stitches on him soon."

Her unemotional commentary was cut short though, and even she held her breath as Rathley finally managed to grip some of the short hair in his right hand and pull himself behind the animal and onto its back. He had no time to perform his rodeo though, however much the announcer called for it. The rat couldn't jump properly, but it tried to rear up and shake him off as furiously as it could.

And that had been what Rathley had wanted. The rat was not big enough for him to be fully safe on its back, and it caught his shins as it scratched away at its sides. However, once it had reared up Rathley could put his feet down and push them both forward with all his might. The rat, still trying to reach around itself to get him off, was not ready for the sudden fall and collapsed onto its belly with Rathley still atop it, its forelegs trapped beneath itself.

After that all Rathley had to do was wrap his good arm around the animal's throat and start choking it. Looking on in a mixture of worry and relief Abigail thought she understood why; the animal's fur would soften any punches he made against its head.

Not that it stopped him from bringing his blood drenched elbow down on its skull as he tried to drive the molerat into unconsciousness. With no leverage the molerat could do little more than wriggle and drive itself forward with its hind legs. The crowd was cheering now and the fight looked won, but that didn't stop Rathley shouting out an expletive as the rat finally freed its front left paw and clawed at the arm around its neck.

They were facing away from her, so Abigail couldn't see what it had done to him, but the unexpected attack just drove Rathley to pull the molerat's head back tighter and bring his elbow down into it again. That was enough for the rat, and any more clawing it did was too feeble and dopey to cause any more harm. Rathley lay there strangling it for a few moments more before staggering up and accepting the cheer of the crowd.

"I can't believe it guys, girls and ghouls! Marge has finally met her match! Rathley may be ten years older, but that's just been ten years more fighting practice! Now let's get him a medic, losing that finger looked painful!"

Sure enough, as Rathley approached them from the pen Abigail could see that his right hand was covered in blood as well, and missing its little finger.

"Oh god, Rathley!"

"Sympathy, Sugar? I'm touched."

"Now that," Christian complemented, "that was a proper fight! You've gone an' shown 'em how it's done, ya hardy ol' bastard!"

Chopper was much more matter of fact about what was needed. "Alright, let's see it, old timer."

Rather than offering her his right hand Rathley swung out his left, wincing as he did so, and knocked her out cold. The brief look of shock on her face was all she could manage before Kyle and Abigail were forced to catch her, and Sharn hid behind them all as Rathley turned to her.

"Hey, it's your fault! You made Abby fight too!" Sharn said defiantly, but Rathley just glared at her and turned to Abigail.

"Wake your girlfriend up, Sugar, I need some doctorin'. And get me a stimpak, this hurts like a bitch in heat."

Before Abigail could comply the announcer broke through the tumult around them. "Rathley may have won folks, but this rat isn't dead yet! How are you going to finish her off, Rathley?"

The audience shouted all manner of suggestions, but Rathley evidently didn't care one way or the other. "Let her live," he shouted back to him. "I'm the only one to beat her so far, so there's a target for the rest of you punks!"

"A challenge!" The announcer called as Rathley turned away. "He's laid down the gauntlet rat-fans! Who will be the first to try and claim his trophy!"

By the side of the pen Rathley ignored both the announcer and the back slapping fans. "Fuck trophies," he grumbled, taking a stimpak that Kyle offered and sticking it into his bloody hand, "just get me my caps and a conscious surgeon."

"You're the one who knocked her out!" Abigail exclaimed in incredulity as she woke Chopper up.

Rathley held up his gently numbing hand. "Ask my pinkie if it gives a fuck." He was beginning to slur his words.

Then, from Abigail's other side, came Celia's breathy voice. "Mhister Rhathley, thank yhou for not khilling it."

Rathley spared her a lazy glance. "Whatever you say."

But his attention shifted back to Chopper as she found her feet again. The glared at him, while he looked pleased with himself through the pain and fatigue.

"Now," she asked, "would you like to let me work or would you prefer to bleed to death? That stunt has already cost you your anaesthetic."

"You know you like hearing me scream, Marie."

"Don't call me that."

Abigail watched as Chopper led Rathley away to sit down, but paused as she thought she also saw Erin slipping away from the edge of the crowd. That was something she would have to deal with soon. But not yet, she told herself, and she and the ghouls followed Chopper to watch her work.

---

Rathley's injuries, though bloody, were not severe by Chopper's assessment. Sure, he had lost a little finger and a lot of blood, but given a few days, a few stimpaks and new bandages every now and then he would bounce back in his own gruff way.

It came as no surprise to Abigail that, while she and Sharn observed the medical process out of desire for knowledge and practical skill, for the ghouls it seemed to be a minor talking point that they might have discussed over tea. Only natural, she realised, when they spent all day every day wearing their own perpetual wounds.

"Lost a bit have ya'?" Albert laughed. "Now we got somthin' in common! Bet that pinkie'll go for a good few caps ta some ol' sticky fingered poacher out there."

Yuck, was Abigail's only reaction.

But the rat fight, nerve racking though it had been, was not the end of her day. She had other business to finish, and she had already procrastinated enough with Christian and his friends.

"Come see us again before ya' leave, Abby," the old ghoul had said. "We aught'a say g'bye proper-like."

After all of that, even missing a finger, Rathley was more than happy not to sit around and wait to heal up before heading out of Corva, and Chopper seemed similarly happy to allow it. So before then some apologies still had to be made.

That was why Abigail did not follow her team mates back to their inn, or the ghouls back to their games house. Instead she left the fighting pens by the path that took her beside the merchant street, and past the pockets of more obscure traders and their homes. A fusion battery charging service, an ammunition filler, and someone carving dirt cheap furniture out of old wasted tree trunks that were lined up beside his unassuming looking shop. It was a very eclectic selection, and while Abigail couldn't think why, this was the way that Erin had left from the rat fight.

The reason for that was a long time in coming, and Abigail had begun to think that she had left it too long before following the girl when the outer end of houses could be seen. It was only when she saw a gunsmith's shop beyond the end of the market street, hidden a few houses deep into the edge of the town, that she realised why Erin might have gone that way.

Sure enough, inside the garishly painted shack of the Carbine Kitten Stephanie sat at her work bench, surrounded by defunct or cannibalised weaponry. She still wore her frivolous straw hat, and Erin sat on the stairs that must have led up to Stephanie's tiny room, perched like an oversized outhouse on top of the shop.

They both looked up as she entered, and Abigail's stomach sank when Erin could only glare at her and look back down to the floor. Stephanie, however, was more hospitable.

"Hey, Abigail. What can I do for you?"

Straight to the point, Abigail thought. Yeah, she's pissed at me too.

"Hi Stephanie," Abigail greeted, trying to mask her unease. "How have you been? I think Jassic really likes your gun."

Stephanie gave her a careful look, and seemed undecided. "Good, I liked that one too." The tension in the air was far too much for her to be able to miss what Abigail was here for though, and she long knew what Erin's expression meant. "But I know you're not the shooty type. So, you know, if you two want to cut to the fight already you can do it upstairs."

Erin stared at Abigail for a moment, waiting to see if the girl would just make it easy and leave, before leading the way up.

"And don't touch anything," Stephanie warned. "It's not all been deactivated yet."

The upstairs room was just as small inside as it looked from the outside, and the metal shelves were stacked floor to ceiling with yet more arms and armament. That included several hand grenades hanging precariously above the bed.

This girl is nuts, Abigail thought, but then she had known that already. Erin didn't seem to mind a bit, and took a seat on the small bed in the centre of the room; it was the only space that wasn't taken up by shelving.

Abigail closed the door - was that a land mine hanging on the back of it?! - and sat down nervously.

"You'll forgive me if I'm not really in the mood to be talking to you right now," Erin said frankly.

Abigail could believe it. "Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry, okay?" Abigail said, without returning a hint of Erin's confrontational tone. "I really am. I didn't plan for it to happen. I mean, I don't even like her a lot of the time."

"'Like' and 'Love' are not always mutually inclusive."

Abigail grimaced a little. "Tell me about it."

"But you've fallen for her copious charms none the less."

Abigail nodded in defeat. "Yeah."

Erin closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Well, if it hadn't been you, then it would have been someone else. At least you have the decency to admit it. I will just have to wait for her to get sick of you like she did me before I can try to win back her heart."

She gave Abigail a dark look. "Or do you expect to be exception in her line of past girlfriends."

"I don't know, do I?! Erin, I admit it, I now know what you see in her, but even so... With the way she talks to you now, does she really warrant all that energy? You've been there watching opposite her at the rat fights, and waiting around with amoral mercenaries just so you can see her come back into town again. Isn't that a bit much?"

Erin just stared at her. "I want to get back the feeling I've lost. When she was here it was almost a game: remaining inseparable in spite of my father and the Diamonds and those wanting to catch us in the act.

"But being around town, that's not all down to Chopper. I make sure I'm there for every one of my father's mission reports, and for every birth and every funeral. I know who won every major rat fight or shooting contest for the last four years. I know who I could go to for finances, protection, weapons, information or emergency labour. I bet I could say how many times your friend 'Chris'chun' has been spat on and get it right to the nearest half dozen."

"What?" Abigail asked, overwhelmed by all the sudden information. "Why? Chopper says you are so coddled you couldn't want for anything!"

A sudden look of betrayal appeared in Erin's eyes. "She doesn't think that. She can't." Then she sighed. "No, you're right, the only thing I could want is her. But that won't last. Whether it's the radiated air or just a bullet, one day my father is going to die, and I'm going to be there to take his place. I don't intend to be shoved out of the way or snuffed out by an ambitious landlord or businessman. I intend to own this town in spirit long before it is mine by inheritance. I am obsessive by nature, Abigail, and that is only making it easier to learn everything I need to know."

Then she looked down into her hands, the hard edge fading from her voice. "And if offering her a town is what it would take to win Chopper from you, or from whoever she has found by then, I'm obsessive enough to do that too. So I will take her back, Abigail. No matter how long it takes."

"But even if I -didn't- care anymore," she added. "I'd still advise you not to get too attached. She dropped me suddenly enough, and sooner or later she'll probably do the same to you."

Abigail wanted to defend herself after that, but really what was there she could say that wouldn't have been a lie? She already knew what Chopper was like in her love life, even before experiencing the truly attractive aspects of it for herself. "I guess that's that then," she sighed, getting to her feet before Erin could add anything. "I will consider myself advised, and you needn't worry about ensuring my silence or anything either. I'll leave your plans alone. I wouldn't even know who would actually want to know what you have in mind anyway."

Erin smirked, and to her surprise she could see a little of Chopper in that amused smile. "I was just going to tell you to look after her. She might be better than me, but she is still a bad enough fighter to need your group to keep her alive out there."

"You aren't worried about your secrets?" Abigail asked, attempting a joke.

Erin shrugged. "Most people will expect me to take over anyway. They just don't know how many people already consider me a worth keeping around."

Cute, Abigail thought sarcastically as she left.

Downstairs again and Stephanie looked back up from her tinkering, and finally gave Abigail a genuine smile. "Ambitious thing, isn't she?"

"Very. I guess you're on her side already?"

"I was from the very beginning."

"I don't suppose you mean that you might -like- her," Abigail ventured.

"Me? No, sorry, I definitely like my men. So how are you feeling?"

Oh well, Abigail thought, it was worth a shot. It might have made Erin happier. She sighed, and told the truth. "Crappy."

Stephanie gave a look of sympathy, both to Abigail and towards the stairway. "Yeah. I guess that makes two of you."

---

After that, Abigail felt very much in need of a pick-me-up. Erin was un-assuaged in her intentions towards Chopper, and if anything Abigail had ensured that the girl's desperate affections would remain simmering unhealthily beneath the surface while Chopper got this latest 'fling' out of her system.

Abigail didn't like that either. Sure, it might not last - enough people had been telling her so, including her own sense of insecurity - but at least for the moment they did mean something to each other. Abigail got the feeling that Chopper's heady affections were there precisely -because- the older woman meant something to Abigail.

But she wasn't going to dwell on that. Her apologies and admissions hadn't made her feel better, but they had been said and that was all she could do. She had tried, and everything else was up to Erin to work out for herself. A colder rationale than she liked, but that was that. There was someone else who Abigail had mistreated, and while they had cleared the air between themselves Abigail did still want to say goodbye properly.

And unlike some of the Mercs, she knew where to find Lilis. The brothel was a difficult building to miss, and was probably the largest structure in the whole town in terms of the ground it covered. It was two floors tall, and the front of the upper floor was taken up by a neon billboard that Abigail guessed was supposed to be provocative. It certainly made an impression surrounded by earthen and scrap-made bars and shops, and it was probably the only building in town to have electricity. Abigail guessed that was part of the reason why the fusion battery re-charger could stay in business.

A couple of prostitutes were looking out of the windows between the neon strips, trying to entice passers by and succeeding every now and then. Abigail had to admit that they were physically attractive, at least compared to the dusty and sun-grizzled majority of Corva's population, so they weren't relying on pure brazen immodesty. The redhead had taken the trouble to do her hair up in a nice and ornate fashion, even though it would probably not survive her next customer.

Enough of that, Abigail decided as soon as she realised she was appraising a -brothel- of all things. She was better than that. She plucked up her courage and used it to hide her embarrassment as she walked over and in through the open and pockmarked double doors.

"Well now, if it isn't Miss Iseley!" exclaimed the old woman from behind the main desk. "You don't -look- as strong as they've been saying... but, if you took down the terrible Heart mutant we can't be arguing with that, can we, Stanley?"

The large, half dressed man beside her desk cocked his eyebrow at Abigail. "I guess not, Marge. You know how the small ones get energetic."

Abigail had been expecting a fat, matronly type, but it seemed like the madam of the brothel was a skinny and wrinkled old girl fast approaching her centennial. Her amazingly heavy tan only worked against her as well, and Abigail hoped that it was just the sun she had been soaking up.

"Uh, right. Look, I'm here to... umm, could I speak to Lilis quickly please?"

Marge's ancient and wrinkled eyebrows made a break for her silver hairline. "Lilis, is it? My my, well I guess you do look strange enough in all that black, right to the glasses. Always the ones you wouldn't expect. Who referred you?"

"Referred?" Abigail blinked, and wondered just what the old woman was implying. "I, uh, I don't want to sleep with her or anything, just say thanks for helping us out there."

Marge frowned and crossed her hand in her lap. "You come into my whorehouse and you -don't- want sex? What's wrong with you girl!? I'm not going to be having you waste my time - and my time is very expensive where our most exclusive girl is concerned! - just to chat about the moonlighting she does for the mayor!"

"But..!"

"No ifs!" Marge snapped, shooing her away. "And no butts for you or anyone else without paying for them, and for the stud or sexpot they're attached to! Now go on, unless you're wanting the best shag of your life you have no business being here! You shouldn't even know to ask for her by name unless you're a potential customer! Stanley, escort her out."

And that was that. The fit, muscular man took Abigail by the arm and marched her from the building as gently as Abigail's futile protesting would allow. In the back of her mind she wondered what he could eat in the desert town to maintain that kind of body, because so far the strongest people Abigail had seen were those with more bulk to them.

Abigail stood flabbergasted for a moment, barely able to believe that she had just been thrown out for wanting a few minutes of someone's time, but evidently naming Rathley's molerat after her had been very apt.

Stanley let go of her arm, and gave her a much more friendly smile, holding out his open hand. "If you like, I could pass on your message. My time isn't quite as pricy as the madam's."

Abigail looked at him a moment, before digging into her jacket pockets to see what spoils she still had in them after the battle with the Hearts. Most of it had been packed away in her travelling bag, but there were still a few things she had wanted to keep on her, and a few she hadn't wanted the others to see.

She did have a handful of bottle caps nestled in there, for use as small change. She still had little real idea what they were worth, besides their use for sweetening a trade, but she offered them to him none the less. He took five and slipped them into the waistband of his shorts, leaving Abigail the rest. She looked at him steadily, and told him what he should pass on.

"Head around the back and you'll get your reply."

Abigail did so, though not quite knowing why she would need a reply - it was as if he thought she wouldn't trust him without confirmation - and a minute later the reply came in the form of an empty half bottle of whiskey that almost fell on her head. Abigail looked up, but the thrower had already retreated back into the room, hurriedly closing the wooden shutters again.

Abigail took the bottle, and gently pulled out the note that was lodged in its neck.

'You are welcome.'

Abigail left the seedy district with a smile that she had not been wearing ten minutes before.

---

One perk of her new relationship, Abigail thought in her sleepy satisfied haze, was that it made sharing a bed at the inn much less awkward. There was no need to worry about where she kept her legs now that she was cuddled up against Chopper's comfortable side. Right then her legs were happily wrapped around her lover's thigh, while the hand that wasn't trapped between them wandered in circles over Chopper's not-so-flat but pleasantly soft stomach, making a wandering bulge in the bed sheets.

"Chopper?"

The woman looked down into the eyes that stared up at her from the edge of the sheet. For once it was them that were visible, while the lower half of her face was hidden instead. "Yes?"

"This is about more than just the sex to you, isn't it?"

Chopper stifled a laugh. "You're not bored of it already are you?" She leaned over to tickle Abigail's side, and gave the girl's ear a little nibble. That never failed to make Abigail giggle in the most unlikely and girlish way, and it had the desired effect once again.

"Hey, stop that!" She writhed a little, her voice muffled as Chopper 'inadvertently' smothered her with her chest. "No foreplay when I'm trying to fish for compliments!"

"Then what if I said," Chopper breathed as she continued nibbling around Abigail's ear, "that you are so pretty, so quaint and move so damn beautifully that I'd have tied you to the bed then and there when you first asked if I was queer, if you hadn't been so quick to shoot me down."

"I'd say you're still talking about sex!" But Abigail did stop resisting, and instead turned to Chopper so that she could kiss her properly. She was already blushing scarlet, and the kiss only darkened the shade. "But I guess Jaqueline was right. Fishing for compliments does work after all!"

Chopper smiled, and pulled their hips together out of wanton mischief making. "Who's Jaqueline?"

Abigail returned the smile and kissed her again, gently pulling them apart again. It wasn't the time for that kind of playfulness when she was feeling so nostalgic behind the heat in her face. "Just a friend. From before."

Chopper took the hint and backed down a little, simply tracing her short nails across Abigail's hips. "So why did you ask? I suppose Erin said something?"

"I just want to hear it from you," Abigail admitted. "I know I'm just your latest girlfriend, but I'd still like to know. You mean something special to me, you know. You are my first, and you were there when I really needed you."

Chopper seemed to wonder at that. "If all I wanted was good sex, I'd buy it. I could afford the best queer prostitutes in town these days."

Abigail frowned, and looked down between them under the sheets. "... Don't say something like that when you're supposed to be holding me."

Chopper ignored her and held her closer. "I'd rather have someone who can learn and explore, and who wants -me- to explore -them-. I want someone who might actually give a damn that I want to find every little thing that turns them on, and what brings them the most pleasure. Someone who makes me -want- to please them."

She pulled Abigail closer again, and her breathy whisper returned. "And you do that. If you didn't care then I wouldn't be bothering, but you do. And that makes me want to please you..." she laid a kiss on Abigail's cheek.

"In every..." a hand stroked down Abigail's scarred back.

"Way..." another kiss on her neck.

"Possible."

It had been too long in coming for Abigail when Chopper finally slipped a thigh between Abigail's own. Her heart had been set racing and her hot blush had returned with a vengeance. She pressed herself into the older woman's body, driven by the desire to kiss her or else combust right there and then. Chopper's words hadn't even made much sense to her, or given any real answer, but they were loving and earnest and passionate and that was all that mattered right then.

"Oh god, how did I manage to fall in love with someone like you?"

Hearing herself say it only made her heart beat more strongly in her chest. Even though she had already spent three nights in Chopper's arms, she had not admitted it to her until now.

"Who knows?" Chopper beamed with that rakish smile of hers as she climbed on top, and they began in earnest for the second time that night.

"Who cares?"

---

When morning came the first Abigail knew of it was the unpleasant sensation of Chopper leaving to join the rest of the vertical world. It was still dark beyond her eyelids, but Abigail knew that would be changing soon and she groaned, pulling the thick covers over her head.

"We're heading out soon, Abby," came Chopper's muffled voice. "Are you planning on sleepwalking out of here?"

"It's still early," Abigail protested, her brain foggy and non-cooperative.

"Not according to the sun," Chopper replied, and Abigail heard the shutters opening up. "We're not going to wait for you to see your ghoul friends just because you can't get up in the mornings."

"Well opening the window isn't going to make me want to! I haven't got my sunglasses!"

Then she felt the sheets being thrown back and the pair of shades were placed smartly in her hand. "Either put them on or I'm getting undressed again, and then you definitely won't have time to say your goodbyes."

"... What kind of choice is that? You're mean."

---

Despite the disappointingly short delay Abigail did manage to visit the ghoul quarter with a few minutes to spare. Quite a few of the ghouls had crowded into the 'Seven Feet Under' Clubhouse, more than Abigail had seen even at the sending off gathering before she had gone off to battle the super mutant.

As she greeted many more of these half-dead but kindly people it struck her how surreal and how terrifying her life now would have looked had she been told of it before leaving Vault 42. Getting involved in lethal gunfights with wholly immoral surface gangs and making friends with the still living victims of the war would have sounded have sounded like something from a comic book nightmare.

And there she was, drinking her grandmother's favourite Nuka Cola with Christian, Celia, Albert and their friends and thinking herself fortunate to have had the chance to meet them at all.

"Soo, will wee see youu agaain Abbyy?" Mona finally asked when Abigail's companions appeared to collect her.

Many gory heads nodded in agreement. "Hy hope yhou whill come bhack," Celia said. "Whee whill miss yhour company here."

"Don' start layin' it on all thick like, ladies" Christian chastised them. "Abby ain' gotta stick aroun', she's got places ta go. Gotta see the wastes with your own two eyes, eh girl? Getting' out there an doin' some good jus' like ya did for us mangy lot."

"Who you calling mangy?" case an indignant voice from the bar area, but that just made the rest of them laugh, which turned into a collective coughing fit.

"Don' interrupt me when I'm sendin' our smoothskin off!" Christian shouted back amidst the coughing, but Abigail just laughed with them.

"Don't worry," Abigail said, "I'll come back. I have friends here, right?"

"Right," Christian agreed, giving her a wide, five toothed grin. "Go on now, your folks are a'waitin' for ya."

Abigail did as she was told, but before she could leave Celia called after her. In her single hand she held a holotape. The casing was cracked and rusted, but the interface side looked undamaged enough to be readable.

"Habigail, plhease take this." She handed her the tape.

"This whas my bahckup tape. I lhost my Pihpboy, but mhost of my rhecords and mhaps are here."

Abigail looked at the holotape in shock. Celia had once had a PipBoy? No wonder she seemed younger than the other ghouls. Her family had also taken refuge in a vault somewhere. But why had she left? So how had she become a ghoul after the war? Why would she give Abigail something so personal as what amounted to her diaries? How had she lost her Pipboy?

She looked to the bare, bony stump of Celia's right elbow. That was probably how. She had so many questions for the ghoul woman, but found her throat too dry to ask them.

Celia must have sensed at least at least some of her questions. "Whe are sahfe here. Hy have no nheed of it nhow, lhike Halbert has no nheed of his ghun."

"But your memories..?"

"Hy have plhenty of mhemorhies of my hown, these dhays. Hy don't nheed rheminders of a lhife I have outlhived, bhut hyou might fhind them huseful."

Abigail had always told herself that she was not one to cry at partings or funerals, but right then she knew here eyes were growing wet. She would not have wanted to part with her PipBoy and her diaries for anything in the world, and Celia had given hers so freely, even if the data was only a copy.

"Thank you. I promise I'll look after it."

From the door Rathley called, sounding impatient. Or if Abigail was lucky it was the pain in his bandaged hand. "You comin' Sugar? Noon's gonna catch us up already."

"Alright!" Abigail said, if only to keep him quiet for another moment.

"Thanks, everyone," she said in genuine appreciation. "I'll make sure to visit when I come back to Corva."

"We'll be waitin'" Albert said, as they waved her off. "Ain't nothing else to do around here!"

---

Outside, once Abigail had joined them, the quintet made their way back towards the rest of town.

"Ready now?" Chopper asked.

"Yeah. Sharn, did you get to see Kirren at all?"

Sharn nodded. "She wasn't in the mood for company, but she was okay. I told her you were worried."

"And did some trading too," Abigail added for her, noting that the rifle sticking out of her pack was not the same string and tape bound affair that she had used up until now.

Sharn didn't deny it. "She said she wasn't going to be hiring on for Merc jobs. I doubt she would have parted with it if she's been lying. She might have been down, but she didn't cheat herself either. It's a pricy gun."

"I hope she'll be okay."

"She will," Kyle reassured her. "She's a pro."

Abigail sighed and nodded, happy to believe it. "So, where are we actually heading?"

"Probably to make the most of Rathley's list," Sharn grumbled.

Though it was accurate enough, Chopper corrected her. "Anywhere that isn't here. We'd rather not be in Corva if and when the Hearts decide to follow up on losing that little camp we took out."

"Getting caught up in that kind of thing is either pointless or dangerous, neither option with anything else to recommend it," Kyle said.

"Anyway," Chopper added flippantly, "there's an awful lot of nothing out there, so villages in the Mid Waste tend to be very varied. It'll be a good learning experience for you."

"Right. So we're running just for the sake of it."

"-Explorin'-, just for the sake of it," Rathley corrected her. "We're Scavs, it's what we do. Find shit, sell it, kick back live it up 'til next time. Most towns have people wantin' to buy cool junk, or find more of the stuff they're runnin' out of. If we can find some town wreck or wasted caravan first, we get the pick of the loot."

He shrugged. "Just as well we don't need the caps though, because there's no caravans headin' out for the next three days. Most took the opportunity to go early and got the Mayor's messengers to play guard at the same time."

Abigail looked at him, a thought having struck her. "You mean we're going to -walk- to the next town? It took days to get to the Diamond's fortress even -with- the brahmin pulling us!"

"Suck it up Sugar, we don't take guard duty too often. Nothin' to find on their routes." Rathley turned to the others. "I was thinkin' of Micasa, and takin' a north-ish route. We've done the Line up that way, but not further out."

"It's pretty barren up there," Sharn said, sounding unsure. "Worse than just empty desert."

Rathley agreed. "There's probably nothin', but there's also less fuckin' wildlife nearer the Line. After that super mutant, I could do with an easy run."

Kyle chuckled. "You know you've jinxed it now. We'll probably run into that -real- deathclaw of yours this time!"

Abigail sighed at the thought, and the unintended jab she felt from hearing her old and hated nick-name. "Please don't say that."

"We'll be fine!" Sharn said, bringing in a more level and reassuring atmosphere. "Really, it's fine Abby-girl. We walk most everywhere unless there's a reason not to. We'll have some fun, you'll see."

"And since we have the caps," Chopper added, "let's actually buy some provisions this time. No wildlife means less hunting, and the less we have to resort to root gruel the better."

Sharn gave her a sideways glance. "Especially since you'd have to chip in and help cook then."

Abigail decided not to see whether Chopper would take the bait for fun. "Well I've had enough root paste to last me a lifetime, so let's get some food. As long as it's not that dry stuff in packets."

"It's better than those nasty water-noodles," Rathley replied. Evidently he liked the coarse, bready instant meals. "Especially if there's no water to cook 'em with.

"So we'll buy something else," Abigail justified. "I can cook as well you know, if I have anything to cook with."

"Then lead on," Chopper grinned. "Just don't buy us anything poisonous for dinner."

"... Okay, you show me what I can cook, -then- I'll try cooking it. You'll help the first time, right?"

"You were the one who offered."

"Huh? Oh fine, don't give me an excuse to spend time with you! Sharn will help me, won't you, Sharn?"

Sharn nodded, amused by Chopper's sudden change in expression. What had been a teasing smile now showed a woman who knew she had shot herself in the proverbial foot. "Sure. Let's find something expensive to make!"

As they walked ahead Kyle smiled next to Chopper. "I think you picked the wrong answer."

"Yes, thanks for noticing."

---

To be continued...

---

Author's Note:

Well, this marks the end of the 'first arc' of this story. The first thing I will say is that this is NOT the end of the story, but at the same time I have now written a book's worth on a project that was originally intended to be an idle story I could keep coming back to when I got stuck on my other writing projects, hence its length and openness for further developments.

Since this is the end of the first major plotline it's as good a place as any to start using it that way. As such I hope anyone reading will forgive me, but future updates will now be even fewer and further between, and I can't promise any kind of regularity.

It is NOT being dropped though. After the Vault has become a very important project for me, and there is still a lot that I intend to do with it, both in longer story arcs (though maybe 100,000 words long again for a while!) and in shorter encounters. I'll just be doing it in the background, behind whatever project I have going at the time. It may be a while, but keep your eyes open for more every now and then, or just sign up to the Story/Author Alert feature on if that seems like too much hard work!

Thanks to everyone who has read this far, especially those who have sent feedback or left reviews. The next chapter will appear sooner or later.

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2009


	9. Minty Fresh & Powered Up!

After the Vault: Chapter 09

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

---

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 09

Minty Fresh & Powered Up!

Abigail checked the time on her PipBoy again and sighed. "The sun went down quicker when we were riding in the cart."

"That's not something you want to be complaining about," Kyle said, walking ahead of her. "If you want to camp early you'll be out here an extra day."

From beneath her cloak, warding off the mid afternoon sun, Abigail looked up to the mountainous horizon. There was an awful lot of nothing between them and the mountains. Flat, dry, dusty nothing. It was enough to make the vast majestic expanse of the surface boring. There could at least have been the odd ruined city to break up the landscape. Or some pre-war nutcase's shack. Or a rock. At least then she could have kicked it for something to do.

"I know," she replied. "But when you said it was 'barren' up this way I didn't realise that was compared to the rest of the -desert-. It's depressing. I mean, I know there wasn't anything much around here even before the war, but still..."

She left the sentence hanging, her point made.

"Actually, it's not as bad as I thought it would be," Sharn opined. "It's peaceful out here. Once you don't have to worry about food and water, it's a nice break from caravan runs and having to keep watch all the time."

"You mean when it's your watch tonight we'll all be eaten by mantises?"

Rathley was still in a bad mood, two days after losing his finger. Nobody was humouring him about it, but they were giving him a bit more space than they had before, as if they thought he might actually be angry. Abigail wondered why, but kept those sarcastic thoughts firmly to herself. To his credit Rathley did still seem as alert as ever as he led them north-east, despite his lingering and justified resentment.

"Come on," Sharn shrugged. "There's nothing out here. Not even wild brahmin. Hell, I bet Chopper's going to be stirring RadAway into our first cup of morning coffee once we get to Micasa."

"So we get done in by floaters instead of bugs," Rathley said with a snide tone. "Fuckin' great."

"Alright old man, we get the picture." Kyle quickly defused them both. "We might still run into something up here, so we might as well stay sharp."

"Something like what?" Abigail asked. "If there -are- any old towns out here won't they have been found already?"

She checked her PipBoy's old map records, to see what might have been around before the war. Not that there was much point, according to Kyle.

"It's not towns we're looking for. They were mostly built out of timber, and -nothing- like that survived for dozens of kilometres around the Cobalt Line. We don't know what the hell kind of bombing could have made the Line, but it must have been pretty obscene.

"What we're after is the small installations. Train yards, service stations, bunkers... Isolated places that wouldn't have burned up or been hit head on. You can get some good junk out of them."

Abigail still wasn't convinced. "By why wouldn't anyone else have found them already? People haven't explored up here yet?"

"Nope. Back in the day everyone thought the founders were mad to even think about building a town like Corva so close to the Cobalt Line. They were scared, and they still are. There's the mantis swarms and mutant freaks like floaters, but for the most part it's just because there are safer routes to take. The caravan routes go the opposite way out of Corva, east and -then- north, because it's a well known and well guarded route. Sure, the raiders know about it too, but they can be driven off more easily than up here, where you have to make your own path and no-one would know where to find you if you went missing."

"That's why us Scavs exist," Sharn said. "No-one else wants to risk exploring just for the sake of scavenging and mapping out routes no-one wants, so we have to take advantage of that before another Scav does."

"So why -do- you bother?"

Chopper answered that. "Because when we do find something, it's all ours. We can set the price for the information, and we own -everything- we can carry out."

---

Night did fall many hours later, and it was with great relief that Abigail dropped her travelling bag and helped them all erect the tent. Evidently their caravan riding recently had spoiled them all, because even Sharn - ever the outdoors girl - was massaging her calves when they finally sat down to eat.

"Maybe Mayor Golway gave us an easy ride," she said while Abigail tended the shish kebabs that hung over their fire.

To Sharn's delight Kyle took over the task of massaging her legs, and she flopped back into the fine sand.

"A little luxury is good for us every now and then," her lover said. "A proper bed, a bath tin, bar food... Let's face it, we needed to wind down."

Chopper agreed wholeheartedly. "Surveying the edge of the Cobalt Line is rough. Especially with the radiation we'd been soaking up. We might as well make it easy on ourselves when we go out there. Call it compensation."

"I'd call it dangerous," Abigail said, but she knew what her companions were like, and she wasn't really worried. If they could handle raiders and the super mutant, they could handle the worst the desert could throw at them. And besides-

"Hey, don't knock it," Kyle grinned. "We found you out there, didn't we? I don't know what the odds of that were, but -I- wouldn't have bet on them."

"I know, I know." Abigail held out one of the skewers, set with gecko meat and chunks from several varieties of what were supposed to vegetables. Or was it fruit? Abigail couldn't tell. They were edible at least and she didn't -think- they could be animal, what with the stalks and seeds.

Regardless of what it was Kyle took it and passed it to his girlfriend, who accepted the meal eagerly. Abigail passed the others around to Kyle and Chopper, while Rathley took his with a silent nod before resting back against the comfortably shaped rock he had picked to camp beside. Quite how any rock could be comfortable she didn't ask. He would be the one sleeping against it, not her.

Finally she bit into the knobbly fruit on the end of her own skewer, and chewed thoughtfully. It was sort of soft but firm, like an over-preserved tomato or an under-ripe pear, and tasted both vaguely sweet and sour at the same time. Combined with the faint taste of the firewood it was actually quite nice, though she was both tired and hungry enough to have accepted Chopper's disgusting root paste without complaint.

She moaned slightly with satisfaction as she swallowed. "I thought we were never going to get dinner. I'm so tired."

Chopper gave her an amused, questioning look. "Listen to you now. You did better when you were half dead from radiation poisoning. At least you had a reason to complain then!"

"Shut up, we've been walking all day. I'm tired, and I ache, and I want a bath that I know I won't get."

At least she was used to the smell now. Everything on the surface smelled bad, and her nose had been forced to re-calibrate or else flee in her sleep. Thankfully it had not chosen the latter.

Chopper uncurled her legs and brushed the tip of her boot up Abigail's aching thigh. "Then we'll have to find some other way to relax."

Abigail was too tired to suppress her blush. Not that she wanted to. She was getting to enjoy the inappropriately timed flushes of heat in her face, and what they tended to lead to.

"As long as you brush your teeth. I don't want to get bits of gecko meat halfway through."

"Nice, Abby."

At the side of the fire Rathley finally let out a huff at the various displays of affection around him. "Oh fuck this shit! If you're all gonna start fuckin' again then keep it the fuck down!" He got up with what looked like great effort and circled the large rock, taking his half eaten kebab with him.

"Now I know what I'm gonna buy with all these fuckin' caps," he grumbled, not quite out of earshot. "A fuckin' whore slave."

"No you fucking won't!" Sharn called back, but for some reason she didn't look like she believed his threat.

"Actually," Abigail said, "I knew I'd forgotten to buy something yesterday. I'm almost out of toothpaste. Can I borrow some of yours tomorrow?"

Chopper blinked at her, before stifling a chuckle. "Sorry, heh, I'm out."

Abigail turned to the other two, but Kyle shook his head, while Sharn looked at her with even more surprise than the others had. "What-paste?"

"... You're kidding, right?"

---

"You guys are mean."

Chopper smirked at her from where she lay under her coat. "If you'd seen your face you'd have laughed as well! That was priceless."

"And it's not like we -have- any toothpaste anyway," Sharn added from beneath her shared sheet with Kyle, but Abigail was having none of it. "You really never noticed?"

"I'm not talking to you."

"Abby-girl! I was teasing!"

"Hmmph!"

Chopper had to laugh. "You made her mad, Sia."

Abigail stuffed her toothbrush and near empty tube of toothpaste back into her wash bag before turning on her.

"So did you!" She frowned, unwilling to let the silly joke go. "So I'm still dumb. Big joke." She stepped over Chopper, and already clad in just her jumpsuit she pulled the edge of the heavy coat over herself, pointedly facing away from her lover.

"You still have cola up here, even if it is mostly flat. I'm amazed all your teeth don't fall out."

Sharn sighed, and ducked her head to try and meet Abigail's gaze. "You know, most of us don't drink Nuka-Cola that much. I mean, it's valuable in some places. It might not be rare yet, but it's pre-war stuff, I think."

Kyle nodded from behind her. "Maybe there's an old factory somewhere still making it - otherwise I'd be surprised it hasn't run out already - but not around these parts. But why drink that crap when we can brew our own booze?"

"Exactly." Chopper added. She laid a hand on Abigail's shoulder and slid up beside her, beneath their makeshift blanket. "And brahmin powder works well enough. That hot mint shit doesn't suit you."

"Ground up brahmin bone tastes better than peppermint?"

"You haven't complained yet."

Annoyingly, she was right. Kissing Chopper had never made her recoil in disgust despite the fact that the highest form of dental hygiene on the surface seemed to be baked and crushed cow bones and the humble toothpick. Abigail frowned to herself again as Chopper's hand began to wander.

"Stop it. I'm not in the mood."

It didn't help that Sharn looked nice and content with Kyle holding her from behind, when Abigail herself was feeling so annoyed at being embarrassed by them. Chopper was supposed to be a good seductress. Couldn't she just take the hint and-

"How about this then?" Chopper asked, as she slid her arms around her, spooning against her back and holding her protectively, but nothing more. Just like Kyle did with Sharn.

"... That's okay."

Damn her for knowing just how to make it better, Abigail thought, and she grudgingly let her annoyance go.

---

Kyle emerged from the tent the next morning and blinked owlishly as the morning sun struck him full in the face. No wonder Abigail didn't like mornings, he thought. It was bad enough for those of them who -could- see in the sunlight.

"Sia? What's up? Has the old man put the coffee on?"

"Yes, he has," Rathley replied, not bothering to hide the bile in his voice.

Kneeling by the small fire to the side of their camp Sharn held out Kyle's battered tin cup. "Here. It's still warm."

"Still? You've been up with the insects old man?"

"You should've been and all, boy. Just as well 'Marie' was on watch when I needed my stims."

True enough, Chopper was cleaning one of her stimpack needles with a cloth, and turned to glower at him. "And if you want any more you'll stop calling me that."

"Cry me a fuckin' river." Rathley clenched his bandaged hand into a fist and gritted his teeth, but turned his attention back to Kyle. "Over there, boy. Fancy a walk?"

He pointed to a darkened bit of rough ground in the distance, blurred by the morning heat.

"You think it's something?"

"It's somethin' besides the bloody dirt."

Kyle knew that his lover had better eyes than him, and maybe better than Rathley's, so he looked to her for an opinion.

Sharn shrugged. "It's not that far out, and it looks pretty big. I don't think there's anything left standing though. It's probably just rubble. We could ask Abby. She's got that map-boy."

As if on cue Abigail finally emerged from the tent, still blinking the sleep from her eyes behind her shades. "My PipBoy? What? Can I have some coffee before we start walking again please?"

Sharn handed her the last cup, which Abigail looked grateful for. To Kyle she looked as though she'd run a marathon already. "It's a good thing you bought it too. You only just got up and you look knackered."

Abigail just nodded. "I am. What time is it?"

Rathley snorted in something akin to disgust. "And -you're- on watch duty tonight?"

"Oh shut up, Rathley. She'll be fine." Sharn dismissed him with a middle finger. "Are you feeling better, Abby-girl?

Abigail nodded and sipped her coffee. "Yeah. But that was still mean."

The last thing Kyle wanted was to drag -that- up again. He liked to think that he was good with women, but damn, they just didn't know how to get over something. Come to think of it Rathley wasn't doing too well in that department either.

"Abby, can you do us a favour?" he asked, before the girls had a chance to go back to their circular apologies - or what he hoped would have been apologies. "Can you look up where we are on your PipBoy? I'd like to see if that thing used to be anywhere special."

Abigail peered into the distance where he pointed, as if squinting behind her shades. "Uh, okay." She rolled back her sleeve and pressed a few buttons.

"Right, we're... here. Not much around, except an old highway that we should have seen already."

"It's probably buried under the dirt somewhere," Kyle speculated. That wasn't what he needed to know though. "And that rubble?"

"Rubble?" Abigail peered at it again, before shrugging and looking back to her arm mounted screen. "It's... a caravan park, I think. Or a car showground maybe? The map just says there's a motor shop around there somewhere, but there's something recreational behind it. It's not labelled though."

Kyle had to grin. Pre-war cars might never run again, but they did at least tend to leave scavengeable husks. And if the shop had survived, or even if it hadn't, mechanical parts and tools could fetch a nice price from the right buyer.

From their smiles Sharn and Chopper evidently shared his enthusiasm.

"Shall we, ladies?"

---

The showground, or whatever it had once been, had been further away than even the eagle eyed Sharn had guessed. It had drawn them much further north than they had wanted to be - closer to the Cobalt Line - but for its distance it was a much larger prize once they reached it. The cars' corpses stretched out like a twisted metal maze, and while little remained to show why, none of Abigail's companions actually cared.

"So, what are we going to be looking for here?" Abigail asked as she sat with them for lunch on the edge of the metal graveyard. Kyle had looked over one of the blasted cars before deeming it safe and promptly setting light to what remained of its worryingly synthetic upholstery, giving something for them all to cook their gecko shish kebabs in.

"You're a mechanic," Kyle said. "Look for something usable and in decent condition. Anything."

Rathley rattled off a list. "Charged fusion cells, cell regulators, fans, coolant bottles, radios, passenger junk..." He sounded almost bored, but he was helping, which was a big enough improvement. Evidently the size of the place had improved his mood. "You want to keep your eyes out for signs of other people too. Don't want to get shot in the back when you're goin' through a glove box."

"Does that mean you aren't on battery duty?" Sharn asked. When Abigail looked at her cluelessly she explained. "He's usually the one checking the fusions cells. He's more techie than us."

"I'll leave that to the new gal," Rathley said. "I want to check the shop."

He jerked his thumb behind him. The workshop looked fairly big and it was still standing, though only barely. Like the cars and trucks around it its metal walls were buckled and bent, and the roof had either been torn off or been burnt away entirely.

Kyle nodded. "Fair enough. Abigail, you Sia and me will split up and start going through the vehicles. Honestly, except for the fuel cells don't worry too much about the machinery unless it looks worth lugging around for two more days. By the looks of it most of these girls' cells blew back when the war hit. It's the trucks and trunks we need to check. Usable -goods- are better than usable -parts-."

Abigail nodded in understanding. "And what will you be looking for?" she asked Chopper.

"I won't. You can have fun scavenging, I have meds to make."

"She guards the camp," Kyle added, "and if we holler she comes running."

Rathley gave Chopper a dark smirk. "That's the idea anyway."

Chopper just returned the evil smile with one of her own and continued to eat, which was more effective than any reciprocal threat.

"Anyway," Sharn said, leaving them to their stare off, "It's going to take more than an hour to search this place, so either way it would be nice to have a camp and some dinner to come back to after hauling our loot around all day."

"You're letting her cook?" Rathley asked, and blinked, leaving Chopper to look smug as the winner of their impromptu evil-eye competition.

Sharn nodded, dead serious. "It's about time she took her turn."

---

Sharn had been right about how long the junkyard would take to explore. Abigail had elected to take the west side of it, while Sharn took the east and Kyle went right up the middle. It was easy enough to split up, since several huge lorries lay as rough dividers, inside which was Kyle's territory.

Abigail hadn't expected it to be quite so monotonous though. The odd cry of exultation gave her the impression that Sharn was doing well, but the whole thing just came down to dull methodical routine. Check the fusion cell (dead), examine for any working parts (few, if any), check the trunk (junk). Rinse, repeat and enjoy - not.

It wasn't a waste of time, far from it, but Abigail had got the impression there would be more exploration and adventure to real Scav life. Exploration, it turned out, was just a matter of enduring the desert, and adventure would probably amount to getting shot at by more raiders.

But that was life, and as unpleasant as it was she knew now that it could be a lot worse. Compared to her brief and naive stint as a Merc this was the better option by a long way.

She slammed another rusted boot shut and hauled her Bag of Swag (Trademark of Abigail Iseley, Anti-Vault-Tec exploratory corporation) over to the next burnt out vehicle. It was a cute old bubble of a van, and Abigail only had to pull to open the engine cover. Whatever latch there had been was no longer around, but the contents were all present and correct, as far as she could tell. She knew nothing of motor vehicles, but she understood the basic power systems. Whether it was a truck or a hydroponics regulation system, they all used the same power relays and fusion cells. Those cells just had to be plugged into the correct system of regulators and adaptors for whatever they were powering. Whoever had made those fusion cells a standard must have had a tidy little monopoly before the war, Abigail thought.

The van's relays and drive system were burnt out and seized solid, but remarkably the fusion cell still sparked when she pulled it from its socket - the proof that it still held a charge. She would have preferred to use a voltmeter, but apparently they didn't have those on the surface, and just plugging and unplugging the battery a few times looking for a spark was the accepted method for testing one. Thank god the heavy little things were stable enough to deal with such rough handling, because when one blew the miniature nuclear explosion would vaporise anyone within twenty feet, and produce the most adorable little mushroom cloud to send them off with. Abigail had seen it in her vault training films.

Still, loot was loot, and they were very stable batteries. It was just a shame that she only had three of them to show for her four hours of scavenging. What she -did- have though was luggage. The cars had all been in use when Armageddon had hit, and while most had been destroyed through and through a few had preserved the suitcases inside them. While basic everyday clothing might not be valuable it was at least -useful-, Abigail had decided.

Civilian cars also came with car toolkits, and she had long stopped bothering to collect their contents. She had enough good tools to make herself an entire new toolbox, which would be a valuable addition to her own supplies, despite its weight. It would not replace her vault multitool, but it would complement it perfectly.

More worryingly, several cars also had guns in their glove compartments. Abigail had known that people had owned guns even before the war, but it had still unnerved her to find the defunct pistols there. She had taken the ones that looked like they still might work, but she had made sure that any safety devices were locked the way Kyle had shown her. He would have to decide whether they would still work, but since weaponry was so valuable on the surface she couldn't simply leave them there.

Not that any of them really needed the caps, she thought as she opened up the back of the van. They were apparently very well off after their mercenary work, enough to buy their gecko meat instead of hunting up iguanas, and they were still searching for things to sell when they got to the next town?

She shrugged, and put it down to natural desire for security. If they didn't get it, someone else would. Abigail had always been provided with what she needed until leaving Vault 42 behind her, and even she already understood her friends' need to be a part of the material wealth race. The more they had now, the longer they could live without needing to risk their lives, and the more comfortable they could make themselves between jobs. They would be fools to pass up the opportunity to further themselves just because they were not in desperate need right now.

It felt wrong, but she had already convinced herself that it was just the culture shock talking.

She buried the unease and peered into the van. Whatever was in there, it hadn't survived. All that remained was ash and metal struts, outlining where the crates has been before they had burned up, along with their contents.

Then a soft, metallic thump made her freeze.

She had seen nothing to suggest anyone else had been here. The tools, weapons and luggage had been hers for the taking, and she hadn't seen any footprints in the dirt besides her own.

But that had definitely been something close, knocking into the side of a car out there. Kyle and Sharn weren't anywhere near her, so it couldn't have been them.

She whipped around to see nothing but the wrecks surrounding her. She forced her breathing to slow. There was no need to be jumpy. If she was calm, she would be able to hear it again. Maybe it was just some old tire finally giving way to its rim after she had disturbed it.

And then came a soft pat against the open van door, followed by a wet, shallow chittering sound. Abigail froze again and the van door swung slowly against her arm. That hadn't been human, and surely no person could have got so close to her without being heard. Even now the only noise to betray the creature's movement was a gentle brushing of a tail against the blasted ground.

Abigail slipped a hand into her jacket pocket, and wrapped her fingers around the square metal handle of a knife. She could do this, she told herself. It was only an animal, and she was armed. She had taken down a -super mutant- with those knives.

With lightning reflexes she darted from behind the van, slamming the door closed...

And what met her eyes was like no animal she had ever seen, vault videos or not. The first image to flash to mind, bizarre as it was, was of an upturned kitchen ladle. A foot of pink, fleshy handle rested on the ground while another four feet rose up to meet the thing's ungainly, car-tyre head. Two horns - or were they fangs? - rose up from a small, contorting mouth set into the side of that discus-like head and giving it a front while the tail joined its circumference from the rear. From beneath that flat fleshy mass hung gently swaying sacs or polyps, with no pattern or function Abigail could divine, while the top of the flat 'head' sank inwards in a huge second, coarsely toothed maw.

A maw to where? She had no idea. It took up most of the 'head', and the creature's tail at its widest was only as thick as her thigh. Where it could keep any organs was a mystery, and the complete lack of eyes anywhere on its fleshy surface made it an even more alien sight.

While ungainly, the thing didn't wobble or stagger. Its upright tail flowed back and forth to keep its disproportionate head steady, and when that head had come around to 'look' blindly at her it had merely glided in a short, graceful arc. There was something hypnotic about that movement, as if the creature was entirely invertebrate. And yet that couldn't have been all.

The creature lunged at her, and as she watched transfixed she understood. The slender final foot of tail had arched and contracted like a caterpillar, and pushed, but it had not supported the creature's weight. The head sailed forward, faster than Abigail had thought possible, and its tail merely trailed along behind it leaving a faint line in the dust. Somehow it... floated.

Then it was atop her, and there was only one thing she could do.

---

When Abigail's scream came Chopper didn't even bother to set her medicine making aside before she was up and running. The bowl was left to fall where it wanted, and if anything was left in it when she got back, that would be a bonus.

This was a rare case for her - it was unusual for anyone to get into trouble while scavenging, and if they did it was for basic medical help or assistance in unearthing something valuable, and not reported by the scream of fear that Abigail had let out. That's what they got for not scouting the area first, and for leaving Abigail alone. The stupid, adorable girl must not have stayed alert enough.

Chopper just hoped that whatever had happened was fixable. She hadn't heard the crash of falling debris, so she hadn't been crushed, but if the girl had been ambushed...

That was the flaw in their strategy. Chopper could help, but only if she had time to. She was not fast on her feet, and compared to the others was woefully out of shape. Even Rathley, almost twenty years older than her, could still match her speed on foot even in his armour. She didn't -need- to be in shape - she was a doctor, not a fighter - but right then she swore at herself for it. She -liked- Abigail, damn it. The stupid girl should learn to be more careful! Didn't she know that Chopper -couldn't- look after her at times like this?

Then the shooting started, and Chopper was grateful for it. It made her realise there had been no shooting -beforehand-. Whatever had caught Abigail needed killing, but it hadn't been able to shoot her. She as an athlete, she should have been able to stay away from mantises or radscorpions. And she couldn't have let one of -them- take her down in a single hit. Not someone as lithe as her.

The heavier report of a rifle didn't join them though, even by the time Chopper made it to that side of the yard. Had Sia not reached them yet?

No, Chopper saw Sharn dart into her field of view briefly. She'd just taken up an improvised spear. Again. What was she playing at when she had a rifle in her pack?

Then the rest of the battle appeared as she rounded the blasted van.

"Fuck me!"

Sharn was batting at the floater with the end of her steel pole, drawing its attention while Kyle lined up another shot with his .44 pistol. Off to the side Abigail gripped one of her knives, but she clutched at her left shoulder with that same hand. Her left arm hung limp at her side, and even from that distance Chopper could see it was dislocated, though probably not broken, thank god.

"Abby! Get back here!" she yelled as she took cover behind the same car as Kyle, but Abigail paid no attention. Instead she dashed in towards the floater the second it bent its head down to attack Sharn, and slashed at the base of its tail.

The attack barely seemed to hurt the mutant creature, but when its whip-like tongue shot out from within its maw it missed, allowing Sharn to reclaim the distance she had been losing. Kyle added injury to the insult, and his next magnum round hit it square in the side of its 'head', pushing it aside for a brief moment.

"What are you waiting for!" Chopper exclaimed. "Kill it!"

"I'm trying!" Kyle spat back. "Where the fuck's Rathley?"

He wasn't lying either. Floaters were notoriously difficult to shoot at because of their strange, unearthly movements, and even when you did hit them the things were so hardy it might only knock the creature off balance for a few vital seconds. Mutants like that were the exception, and tended to live in harsher environments like around the Cobalt Line, but those environments made them horrifically resilient. That was why Kyle was using his most potent pistol. He needed to inflict as much trauma as possible, so that later shots might penetrate properly.

Abigail meanwhile kept moving, and vaulted up onto the roof of one of the cars nearby. There was murder in her eyes again, mixed with the pain from her shoulder no doubt. Chopper could barely believe her eyes when, a second later, she leaped off, hurling her knife down and into the floater's maw. It might not have done much damage to the beast, but the floater gave a throaty scream and curled over on itself to try and disgorge the blade, flicking its elastic, flower-tipped tongue at it.

The attack came too late though, and even as it hit Kyle shouted, "Re-loading!"

Chopper's eyes darted around. This was the perfect chance to go for the kill, but neither Sharn or Abigail was armed well enough to try. Where the hell was Rathley when they needed him?

And then there he was, just standing at the side behind another car, with his arms crossed. He was just -watching- them when they were trying to fight off a -floater-?!

"Rathley, you bastard!"

Rathley just grinned.

Well, fuck that, Chopper decided. She reached for the sub-machine gun at her hip. She might not be able to shoot for shit, but she'd damn well try and perforate that thing. And if she survived, she'd perforate Rathley too.

She flicked off the safety device and flicked on the switch for fully automatic fire. Then as the floater reared back up she shouted at Sharn to back away, before unloading her entire magazine at it.

Out of thirty bullets maybe eight or nine hit their target, but those that did knocked the floater around in a screeching, chittering mess, and like Kyle's shots several of hers drew sickly orange-red blood where they hit already abused flesh.

It wasn't enough for a kill though, and the floater twisted its head-body around to 'look' at her, even though it had no eyes in its front, or anywhere else. Then, with a hard push of the tail, it leaped towards her. Sharn hadn't been fast enough to try attacking it again, and Abigail had been cheering in premature euphoria before she had realised it hadn't been killed.

It didn't look fast, but Chopper didn't have time to run. The floater's strange slide-hopping took it half the distance before Chopper had taken her third step back, and Chopper knew her cover wouldn't be worth shit. The floater would simply land on the car's bonnet like a flying snake, which is exactly what it did.

And then, with a horrific bang of shotgun fire, the floater's head literally exploded. Chopper had already raised her arms to war off the creature, falling backwards to land flat on her backside, and those arms were showered with orange ichor where the gas filled lower rim of the floater had been torn apart like a ruptured balloon.

Chopper sat staring at the wet, shrivelled corpse on the bonnet for a moment, before she turned to see Rathley with his shotgun smoking. The asshole had the gall to look pleased with himself.

Sitting back against the same car Kyle looked equally perturbed. "Thanks for not missing, you old fuck." He wiped the spatter of orange goo from his shoulder. "And, if I may ask, what the -fuck- was that about?!"

Rathley just smiled, clenching his bandaged fist in satisfaction. "This ain't the first time. Up to you lot whether it's the last."

Chopper glared at him as he turned to head back to the camp. She was rather grateful she had already emptied her gun, or she might have done something very stupid just then.

Sharn offered her a hand, which Chopper took with grudging gratitude.

Sharn didn't seem to share Chopper's anger though. Instead she looked worried. "Maybe we fucked up with the rat."

"After this, I'm glad we did."

Kyle seemed to take the middle ground, as always. This time he sounded bitter about it though. "The shame is, he's right. He does keep covering our asses."

The three of them shook themselves out of their funk when Abigail kicked at the dead floater's tail, which hung off the edge of the car bonnet. "That'll teach you!"

Once again, the 'normal girl' was still riding her combat high, and Chopper felt herself grin. Hypocrite to the end, but she couldn't fight who she was. "Abby, are you okay? Take off your jacket and I'll have a look."

Abigail winced, shaking a little, as Chopper helped ease her out of the leather. "That bastard snuck up on me. It hit me with that tongue thing, but that's it."

"They kiss like a stampeding brahmin, right?" Kyle said.

Abigail nodded. "It knocked me off my feet with its -tongue-! Disgusting bastard." She winced as Chopper began to probe her arm, and Chopper smiled.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you get vitriolic after a fight?" Chopper asked, suppressing her amusement as Abigail gasped with the twinge of pain. "This thing's a mutation, but god knows what of. Okay, your shoulder's just dislocated after all. Hold still."

Then, with a scream and a satisfying pop, Abigail's shoulder was back in its socket. Chopper allowed her inner sadist to enjoy it just for a moment before letting her guilt squash it, and she lifted Abigail's chin up. "All better."

Abigail grabbed her face and kissed her forcefully. That startled Chopper, but she was all too happy to oblige. Abigail was getting more pro-active but she rarely played aggressor, and the variety was nice. Or it was until she actually realised what she was tasting on Abigail's tongue.

Then, just as suddenly, it was gone, and Abigail was glaring at her. "By the way: OW!"

But her manhandling of Abigail's shoulder was suddenly far from the front of Chopper's mind, and she returned the kiss with equal suddenness. But, as Abigail soon realised, it wasn't one of passion, but one of concerned analysis. Whatever that taste was, it was unpleasantly chemical and synthetic, with the same sharp edge as Abigail's nasty toothpaste.

"Abby, what the hell did you take?"

---

The recriminations had been short and sharp, and left a bitter aftertaste on an already sour victory. Chopper had not minced her words, a fact made worse by the Buffout high that Abigail had been forced to ride out for the next five hours.

In retrospect she could see what Chopper had meant, sort of. She'd defended taking the drug with a blind zeal that she simply couldn't back up, now that she was coming down from the artificial confidence and physical power trip. She should have just admitted it and taken the lecture, not started a screaming match over who was the idiot for using or not using the drug. She hadn't been able to help it though. Who was Chopper to lecture her, she'd thought. Why not take advantage of what she had scavenged from the Hearts?

Now, with the effect of the chems fading, she was already beginning to think the reverse. Why -had- she popped that pill? She'd taken it in blind panic, and it had given her the will and the power to keep the floater away until Kyle had shown up, but she could have run without it. She might not have had the guts to help Sharn keep its attention away from Kyle, but Sharn probably could have managed okay without her if she'd had to. If Kyle's bullets had only been able to soften it up, why had Abigail herself needed to fight with such crazy zeal?

She remembered this helplessness from the last time she had taken Buffout, and stared at her roasted gecko stick feeling very small. There would be no running off this time though. She'd made her decision when she hid those tablets in her pockets, and now she had to deal with the result. At least both she and Chopper had calmed down now. Although Chopper thought she needed to be educated some more, because her lecture had resumed at a much more calm level.

"Most of the steroid kicks in -after- the initial endorphin rush," she explained. She had already finished eating, and had adopted a learned tone of voice that seemed most unlike her. "But even then the actual steroid effect - some sort of hybrid androgen - is very small and short lived in real terms. You're not actually any stronger or faster than you were the hour before, the chem just allows you to push the muscle beyond its natural comfort levels."

"I still don't understand half of what you're saying," Sharn said as she ate.

Chopper gave her a wry glare. "-I'm- no chemist either. This comes from lots of reading and checking the labels on the damn bottles. The whole concoction's just nasty. The adrenaline and endorphin rush make you reckless enough to use the extra power that you're wringing out of your own body, and whatever short term benefits the steroid hybrid gives come with more aggression as well. It was designed for soldiers, so no wonder the raiders like it."

"Also, it can be addictive," she said, looking at Abigail pointedly, "and I don't know what the long term effects are for weird hybrid shit like this. I've never found a study on Buffout itself. But very generally androgen steroids are bodybuilding drugs, and you aren't the right shape for that, hon. Not to mention they'll fuck up your periods, your heart, liver..."

As if coming down off the drug wasn't making Abigail feel bad enough already. "Alright, I get it."

"Good."

It was information worth knowing, Abigail had to admit. She'd had no idea that the little green tablets were steroids of all things, even if they were odd and spliced up for short term use. If she had, she never would have tried them against that Super Mutant to begin with. Then again, if she hadn't they might all be dead right now. What the hell was she supposed to think about that?

"Come on, Chopper, cut her some slack. It's not like you've never taken anything either. Or us."

Abigail looked up in surprise to hear Kyle's words.

"Sometimes you need a kick-start," he said, sounding unconcerned, "and we know a hell of a lot better than she does what they'll do."

Chopper sighed. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

Abigail felt the need to change the conversation, if only to stop them fighting between themselves over what message they should be giving her. "Look, I get it, okay. I fucked up. I'm sorry. I couldn't fight that thing without... something."

She didn't know how to explain without sounding like a fool, so she left it hanging. They knew what she meant anyway.

"Honey, you took on the Diamonds without it. You don't need it. You know that."

Honestly, Abigail didn't. All she'd done against the Diamonds was start a fire-fight from the safety of the shadows, cower while everyone else got shot, and then beat an already wounded man to death out of panic and anger. But she agreed anyway. Maybe she would understand it more tomorrow, when she was feeling better. "I guess."

"Well, running into a floater was bad luck," Kyle said, now finished with his food. "But even so, we've done pretty well out of this place."

"Really?"

The others had told her that considering what little she would get for the clothes they weren't really worth lugging around, but Sharn had helped her pick out what they might be able to haggle a good price for.

"Yep. One of those pistols you found, the revolver, will actually work once I've cleaned it up, and between us we've got enough ten mil ammo to refill the mag Chopper spent on the floater, and then some."

"Kyle got the real haul though," Sharn said, beaming in pride. She held up a pair of Nuka-Cola bottles. "There was an old Nuka-Cola truck here! Most of the bottles were smashed, but we still found a few, as well as -all- the caps."

"That'll buy back -our- ammo then," Rathley said, sounding amused. "A whole clip of those .44s'll be fuckin' pricy, boy."

"We still come out with a profit," Kyle justified. "And that's before we sell the location."

"And you found some more toothpaste!" Sharn said to Abigail, looking on the bright side. "Seriously, I've never found -any-, let alone a tube that might be usable!"

Chopper grinned at her "Not that you'd have bothered using it."

"... True. But I bet we could have talked up a great price if Abigail didn't want it!"

That was the biggest surprise of the whole trip. Among the more useless luggage in the cars had been uncountable wash kits, and amazingly one of them had a factory sealed tube of toothpaste in a military issue ration box. A soldier must have packed up his family and made a run for it when the real bomb warnings had come, alas too late for him.

The box might have been almost a hundred years old, but in the last few years before the war making supplies as long-life as possible had become an art form. Stimpaks had been the pinnacle of that art - essentially eternal, and several of them had been in the same sealed supply box - but the toothpaste was only five years out of date and it hadn't started crystallising. Because of that, and since it had still been airtight, it would still be as safe to use as any old meds.

It wasn't a big tube - just a small, one-man ration - but it would keep her going for a little while now that her own supply had almost run out.

"What I want to know is where everyone went," Abigail said, finishing her overcooked meat. "I didn't see a single body. They couldn't have just vaporised if so much stuff like their luggage survived, could they?"

"They ran when they saw the mushroom clouds," Rathley said. His face was strangely devoid of humour for such a dramatic statement.

Kyle looked at him with a disbelieving smile. "You think?"

Rathley nodded. "They're in the basement, underneath the shop. Must be over a hundred of the buggers. Or what's left of 'em. Wasn't much of a bomb shelter by the looks of it. I didn't fancy climbing through the bones to check it out."

Abigail was suddenly humbled by the revelation. Every driver and their passengers or family, crammed into the room beneath that twisted building, only to be burned to death seconds later when the nuclear blasts reached them. It made all their own squabbles and recriminations that afternoon seem very petty.

---

While Abigail might get tired of the empty open spaces and the dull yellow-brown horizon that was forever out of reach, she doubted she would ever grow tired of the night sky. It was so beautiful that no other sight above ground - or below - could ever hope to compare. Lying against her rock, looking up at that sky, she found herself grateful for her secure and enclosed upbringing underground. If not for that she might have taken that star studded cloth of space for granted, like her companions did.

Even in the pathetic emotional after-chasm of the Buffout, feeling small and insecure didn't bother her with all those stars looking down, watching her. There was something gentle and pretty and delicate about them, forever out of reach and yet forever there, waiting for night to fall. Abigail could take comfort in the fact that they put the wasteland into some kind of perspective. She -was- small and insignificant, but they appeared for her just as they did for everyone else, and she appreciated their unconditional display of beauty.

She smiled at her own whimsy. She'd been feeling emotional ever since dinner, and she was glad of the calm night to bathe in. She was supposed to be on watch, her first turn for the duty, but she found it difficult to concentrate on the blackness around her when the sky twinkled gently so far above. She kept her ears open, and cast her gaze around the dark desert every now and then, but she wanted to enjoy the soulful silence and the beauty of the night while she was still depressed enough to appreciate it the way she did now.

The alternative to that stellar scene was sitting attached to the PipBoy on her wrist. Finding out the truth about their camping ground and what had happened to everyone there had sparked her more melancholy mood, and it had reminded her just how much she did want to know about the war. Up until then she had purposely ignored her own curiosity about the holotape Celia had given her, but as evening fell she had plugged it in and downloaded the data.

She had felt guilty about it almost as soon as it had been done. In Vault 42 it would have been a gross invasion of privacy to access another person's PipBoy, and even now she couldn't shake the feeling that what she was doing was tantamount to a betrayal of trust. But Celia had given her the 'tape. That was all the justification she should need.

However, it was only two hours later that she activated the PipBoy's screen again, finally feeling brave enough to read any of it. She didn't have to read the diaries. There was plenty of other stuff there. Celia had travelled quite a bit before losing her PipBoy it seemed, and there were plenty of notes and map references to view.

She had been to Micasa, their own current destination, for example.

'A small town. It seems to rely exclusively on trading and entertainment for its income and sustenance, and as yet has made no attempts at agriculture. They say it is too close to the 'Cobalt Line' for that, though Corva manages despite being a day or so closer, as the crow flies. Crime appears to be high, but largely petty, and the establishment either does not care or is incompetent to stop it.

'The town has a reputation for being welcoming and hospitable to newcomers, but I am not sure why. Superficially it appears that way, but after staying any real length of time it seemed no more genuinely welcoming than any other safe town. That worried me slightly.

'It has little to recommend it besides the prevalent gambling houses and other dubious entertainments, but still remains well travelled. I think most travellers would find better quality facilities and services elsewhere, though probably not all in the same town, as they are here.'

What a charming place, Abigail thought dryly. Celia evidently had more bite to her opinions before she became a ghoul. Abigail added the entry to her own map, along with the many others that she did not bother to read. At least all those little markers made her map look more impressive, though Celia hadn't bothered to record her travelling routes the way Abigail was doing.

Abigail looked more closely when she realised that Celia had even recorded the location of her own vault! Vault 37 was many miles to the north, and if the Cobalt Line stretched the entire length of the US then Celia would have had to travel -through- it to reach places like Corva. Was that how she had become a ghoul?

No, that was unlikely. Chopper apparently came from the west, so the Cobalt Line did have a start point and an end point somewhere. Celia had just travelled south or south-east over the top of it, making her notes along the way.

So how had she become a ghoul? What must she have gone through? Abigail couldn't ignore the question as easily as that. She could just check the personal entry that talked about that single time in Celia's life. Its heading should be easy to spot, she thought grimly.

As she had expected, they were all simple dated entries to start with, probably of life in the vault. There was nothing to suggest that the war had started at any point, so she had probably been born in her vault like Abigail had, or had been very young when she had gone in. She'd know for sure if she ever read them properly, but she wasn't going to do that. Not until she felt better about it.

Then, after several hundred entries, the headings changed dramatically, both in wording and frequency. Just like Abigail's were doing now. One heading just read, "FUCK!!!" and showed no entry contents at all.

Then, a little later, they started getting really dark.

'244: Jan 13, 2100 "New Year Binge, and bad water. Again."

'245: Feb 25, 2100 "My life is over."

'246: Mar 01, 2100 "If they touch me again..."

'247: Mar 14, 2100 "someone help me"

'248: Jun 23, 2100 "there is no escape . goodbye"

'249: Jun 25, 2100 "WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWYWHWYWHWWYHYYYY!!!!!!!"

'250: Jul 16, 2100 "i have realised something"

Abigail switched the PipBoy off. She didn't want to read that. Not now, and not ever. And that was -before- Calia had mutated into a ghoul? Abigail was glad that she had lost her faith, because if she hadn't she would have cursed God in every way she knew for making her see those words written on the PipBoy's pale green screen.

And she was grateful that she had been spared a similar fate.

"Hey, Sugar. You still watchin', right? What're you cryin' over now?"

Rathley's voice broke the silence like a sledgehammer through a pane of glass.

"W-what?" Abigail blinked back the sympathetic dampness in her eyes. "Yes, I'm still on lookout! Why are you still awake? And I'm not crying."

Amazingly, that was the truth. Her breaths were shallow and ragged and her eyes watered in sympathy, but real tears hadn't come. They would have done, if only she'd kept reading, but she hadn't. She was learning her limits, and they were being stretched; She was hardening to the surface and its horrors. Even Rathley had mentioned buying slaves already, so it wasn't as though she hadn't known. She just hadn't been ready to read about it - even so briefly - from someone she had become friends with.

"I can see that light turnin' off and on, Sugar. You're foolin' around with that computer again."

"And I'm -also- keeping watch. There's nothing out there, Rathley."

"Good."

Abigail frowned. She had known Rathley had been lying against the other side of the rock, but she should have realised that he hadn't actually been sleeping. "You didn't answer my question. Why aren't you asleep? You're taking over at one thirty. Are you planning to stay up all night?"

"Don't have much choice. Been a wild day. I'll try and catch a couple of hours before then."

A wild day? That was one way of putting it, Abigail thought.

"What if you hadn't killed it with that shot? Kyle and Chopper both used a full clip against that thing, and it didn't die."

Rathley didn't reply for a moment, as if shifting where he lay. Or shrugging. "Then I'd have shot it again. They'd both fucked up its right side pretty well - I was surprised your girlfriend didn't manage to take it out."

This time it was Abigail's turn to remain quiet a moment. "... And you pissed everyone off just to teach them a lesson? There's something wrong with you, Rathley."

"Probably, but as long as it keeps me alive I don't give a shit. You need me, Sugar. I've been buyin' those three their extra lives for the last six years. Thankfully, they don't forget too often."

"Does that mean I have to thank you for not letting her die? For being more useful than me?"

"This ain't a power trip, girl. Just a reminder to 'em. Life ain't expensive, but I can't grow this finger back." He chuckled. "Here's some free advice, Sugar, since you're the reckless type. Don't take risks you can't talk, fight or buy your way out of if you screw 'em up."

"You put me in that pen too. I almost didn't fight my way out of that."

"Bullshit. You weren't missin' anythin' when you came out. It got you fightin', it got you wise, and it got you respect out of thin air. Out of that, all I got was the respect, except I already got my reputation. They know what they want to think about me, and I -had- to stay in to keep it decent."

"It got you money."

"Cash ain't what any of us are worried about right now, Sugar. Not worth losing a digit over unless you're down to scratch."

That was fair enough. Abigail wouldn't have wanted to lose a finger - or more likely a toe - against her pigrat either.

But it was evident that Rathley wasn't going to be getting his sleep any time soon. "Don't be thinkin' I got anythin' against 'em though. Or you. That stuff ain't personal unless they want it to be, like the rat. And don't worry about the chems either," he added, sounding amused. "If you need 'em, you take 'em. No-one's gonna choose to die when a pill or a shot'll help get 'em out of it. Not even your hypocrite girlfriend. You just take your shakes and get over it, if you have to."

Abigail sighed, and yawned for the n-th time that night. "I don't know. I don't want to need them."

"Then there you go. Tell you what, you go crawl into your girlfriend's bed and I'll take watch. I'll wake you early and have a kip before sun up. I ain't gettin' any sleep like this, and she's probably starin' at the roof of the tent without you."

If only that was true, Abigail thought. She wasn't about to turn down the offer though. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and she would gladly suffer an early morning for it. Maybe it would mean she was actually awake and alert when they decided to pack up and move on again. "Alright, that's a deal. Thanks."

She climbed unsteadily to her feet and made her way to the tent, stripping off her jacket as she went. Inside Kyle and Sharn slumbered together, while Chopper slept beneath her coat as ever. It might have been a little disappointing that Rathley hadn't been right, but Chopper wasn't the type to lose sleep over anyone.

At least she'd left some of the coat for Abigail, and as she slipped beneath it Abigail was grateful to have the warmth of Chopper's body next to her, even if it was only her sleeping one.

---

To be continued...

---

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2009


	10. Su Casa, Micasa

After the Vault: Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

***

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 10

Su Casa, Micasa.

Ultimately, Abigail didn't known whether to be impressed or disappointed when she and her Scav companions reached their destination. Although she had not liked much of what she had read and heard about Micasa - a town trading in loose morals and varying levels of unsavoury entertainment - she had once again expected a little more than she looked to get.

In her mind she had seen neon signs - like the one the Corvan brothel had sported - decorating every casino and bar. She'd expected street lights, civilised suits, and men waiting at the town door to take her cloak, and her money for the privilege. Frankly she had expected a smaller, more run down Las Vegas. Las Vegas had appeared often on Vault 42's cinema screen.

Instead what she got was a wild west town, all made of wood and complete with a single long, central street that accommodated most of the entertainments. It looked very authentic too, with old painted signs over every slatted awning, doormen and their shotguns on the decking outside, and men and women of all colours and states of dress sitting at every window, either hawking their services or simply watching everyone pass through.

But she had to admit, the huge sign that stood over the entrance to the town was bright and friendly, despite its fading and cracked paint. Likewise, behind their weatherworn looks and battered jackets the welcoming party beneath that sign were smiling and jovial people. They were directing the caravans in and out, pointing out the highlights of the town as per the travellers' tastes, and Abigail noted that not one newcomer failed to let his or her guard down after a minute's talk with them.

Perhaps, then, Abigail's lack of enthusiasm wasn't because of the missing lights. The incident with the floater - the aberrant wormlike mutation that had ambushed her in the motor yard - had left her with more emotional baggage than she was comfortable with, not least because that baggage did not come from fear or disgust or grief.

Guilt was a powerful force, and it had always been what kept her honest back in her vault. She screwed up, and she overslept, and she felt genuinely guilty about letting her family and friends down after the fact. Now, she had that lingering feeling that she had let Chopper down, and not made the best use of her talents at the scrap graveyard. There was nothing she could do about it now, and she had done her best, but it had kept her one step out of synch with her friends.

Or so it felt. Her relationship with Sharn had improved and it was nice to chat to her properly again, but by that same token she and Chopper had spoken less in the last day and a half. There was nothing else to say really, and the make-up sex had been earth shatteringly intense, but there was still some sort of strain there. When asked Chopper just joked crudely about Abigail's supposed sexual tension.

At least Kyle and Rathley were getting along. Then again, that was a little scary in itself, but Abigail counted it among her blessings. It was better than having them exchanging insults every half hour.

With all that to think about maybe it wasn't surprising she wasn't in the best frame of mind to appreciate the hospitality the greeting party had to offer.

"Kyle, Chopper!" The friendly man wearing an open vest raised his hand. "It's been a while since we've seen either of you, and now you wander back together? And who are the lovely ladies?"

Kyle put his arm around Sharn to show her off. "Long time, Frank. This is mine." He pointed to Abigail as Chopper pulled back the girl's cloak and finally took her arm. "And she's hers."

The man called Frank laughed and shook his head. "Fair do's. And none for Rathley, eh?"

Rathley looked at the two couples with annoyance before he shrugged. "At least him at the SpongeBath won't be complainin'."

Frank didn't look so sure. "It'll be about time. He's been getting grouchy recently."

"Business bad?" Kyle asked. "You two look pretty chipper, as usual."

Frank shrugged. "Depends on who you talk to."

Frank's partner, her work done with a leaving party, sidled over. "We don't get reasons to complain here," she said, "but you know what some people are like. Speaking of which, look me up."

She slipped a large, crumpled piece of paper in to Rathley's hand. Abigail watched as he opened it with his thumb, just enough to see what it was. A bounty notice.

"Thanks Kana, but that's why I'm here. No freebies today."

Frank obviously tried to ignore them and began chatting loudly to Kyle again, but Abigail's attention was on Rathley and the woman.

"Seriously Rathley! Dammit, *I* was tempted."

Rathley smirked at her, the scarred split in his lip taking some of the humour off his face. "Aww, Kana, are you trying to be sweet? You don't owe me *that* much. Not that I'd complain-"

Kana wasn't amused. She was obviously worried. "At least talk to Foster. And I don't owe you, but it's not gonna be my fault that the first random hero in here takes your head off!"

"It won't be. That's enough chin-waggin' guys. Let's get in there and blow some caps."

Kyle shrugged to Frank. "You heard the man."

Frank nodded reluctantly. "Then you four have fun, but keep your damn heads down."

Abigail decided to take the warning to heart, and she pulled her cloak back over her head. "They're a nice pair."

Rathley nodded. "Yeah, Kana's pretty hot when she's angry."

"Oh give it a rest! I mean, they warned you."

"That's why they've been on the door for the last ten years," Kyle said. "It gives a good impression when the first people you meet are actually pleasant to talk to."

Chopper seemed to agree. "I'm surprised they haven't left this place already."

Kyle shrugged. "They were born here."

"And they still want to stay?"

Sharn and Rathley were not in the same conversational mood. "Uh, hon," Sharn said with a cautious voice, "let's keep our eyes open? If these people might just open fire..."

Though he also scanned the street and the windows on either side, Rathley didn't seem perturbed. Even without his armour on. "I'm bettin' they let us get to the hotels, at least. Who starts a firefight in the middle of the street these days? Besides our Abby?"

"That's not funny, Rathley." Abigail was worried enough as it was, knowing that she was travelling with a man who had a price on his head in this town. And she didn't even know why.

"What did you do for this man to want you dead?" she whispered to him a little further down.

But Rathley didn't answer. Instead he had already picked up his pace, his eyes locked straight ahead.

"Rathley?"

Abigail made a move to follow him, but as she did Rathley broke into a full run and Abigail's mouth went dry as he reached the man he had been aiming for, and swung him around by the shoulder.

He wouldn't, Abigail thought. But she already knew who this bystander was.

The man looked startled as he was pulled to face his attacker, but the moment he realised who he was looking at his face contorted with rage. "What the hell do..! Rathley! You fucker!"

That was all the man was allowed though. Rathley's shotgun was already in his hand, and he pulled the man down over it just as he pulled the trigger.

"Rathley, don't!"

"Run Connor!"

But it was too late, and Abigail recoiled as the bang drowned out any attempts to warn Rathley's victim or stay his hand. The man, Connor, folded like a rag doll as his midsection was blasted out of his back and he fell to the floor in a bloody heap.

Abigail could barely believe what she had just seen. Who the hell *did* start shooting in the middle of a main street in broad daylight? Apparently Rathley did, given the chance. She looked over to Chopper in shock, but Chopper was just staring as well, backing away.

"Hey," Chopper said as the screams started, and both door guards and police began to run onto the scene, "you know, that's not our business. We're not with him."

Sharn on the other hand was apoplectic. "Rathley! You goddamn psychotic fuckwit! What the *hell* did you just do!?!"

"That's right, Sia," Rathley drawled to himself as he wiped the bloody end of his gun on his trousers. "Keep trying to get yourself shot as well."

He wasn't far from the truth. In less than ten seconds he had fifteen guns pointed at him, and another ten pointed at the rest of them."

"Seriously," Kyle said, raising his hand, a slight tremble betraying his lack of confidence about their sudden situation. "*This* was your plan? What happened to keeping your head down?"

The cop in cured leather armour and face mask wasn't so casual about it. "Mouths shut assholes! Next one to talk gets shot!"

"What are you waiting for?!" One man in the crowd shouted. "Kill the murdering bastard!"

"Why?" Rathley asked, openly baiting the men targeting him. "No reason to now."

One of the doormen, armed with a pistol rather than a larger weapon, made good on the cop's threat. He lowered his gun and put a bullet through Rathley's leg.

"Ahhgh! Fuck!" Rathley shouted as he went down.

"He warned you."

Abigail stared at the spectacle, before a shotgun in her side nudged her forwards. "Move girlie."

Thankfully the others were getting similar treatment, and Abigail found herself walking next to her lover. "Chopper? What do we do?"

"It's okay," Chopper said. Her voice was filled with that confident reassurance that Abigail had missed these last few days. "Sia's got us out of shit like this before."

She looked at Rathley at the front, ten cops on him to their two.

"Not so sure about *him* though."

***

"Look on the bright side. It could have been worse."

Sharn levelled her eyes at Chopper, daring her to explain. "Just how could it be *worse*?"

She gestured to the prison cell around them. On two sides were the heavy wooden walls of the prison building, while the other two were made up of iron bars, separating Sharn, Abigail and Chopper both from the two men of their group and from the guards. Sharn sat on the floor with only the shafts of metal separating her from Kyle, and Chopper and Abigail sat on the rudimentary beds up against the two walls. Kyle and Rathley had a double bunk between them and Rathley seemed quite content to lie on the bottom and let the rest of them fight amongst themselves now that Kyle had stopped trying unsuccessfully to beat on him.

While Abigail agreed with Sharn's sentiment she didn't share the woman's anger. She could think of several punishments worse than prison right now, and Chopper could too.

"They could have shot us on the spot? They haven't beaten us senseless yet?"

Sharn turned away from her and back to Kyle, still glaring. "You're not helping, Chopper."

"They could have stuck you on the other side of the walkway, away from him?"

"Chopper!"

Chopper ignored her objections and turned to the guards. "You ever had anyone screwing through the bars here? It doesn't look too difficult."

Both the men in leathered armour chuckled. "More than once. Makes for quite a show."

"An' you're a real exhibitionist, Sia," Rathley added with a laugh of his own.

"Fuck you! Fuck the lot of you!"

Abigail shifted uncomfortably on her un-sprung bed. Sharn was right to be angry. None of this was her fault, and she didn't deserve to be picked on now. "Chopper, stop it. That's not fair."

"Damn right it's not fair! We didn't do anything!! This is his fucking fault," Sharn spat pointing at Rathley on his bed.

Kyle agreed, though much less acidly. "Yes, it is. I trust we're going to get a chance to tell someone that? At least we could be taking in the town while you decide how deep he's dug himself."

The elder of the two guards shook his head. "Not our business. It's up to the widow to decide what happens to you."

"And lucky for you she's a better woman than you people deserve," his partner added.

"That's something then," Sharn said. "It'll do him good to look into the eyes of someone he's emotionally eviscerated."

Then question in Abigail's mind was; would he really care? If you had asked her a week earlier she would have thought not. Now though? She didn't think Rathley was as black and while as all that. He was willing to murder this man at the drop of a cap, but surely he wouldn't be able to be so blasé about it in front of the man's wife.

Then again, the image he had crafted for himself was of the anti-hero. Not caring was supposed to be his strong point. She turned to the guards herself.

"Why did that man want Rathley dead? He was offering a lot of money."

The younger guard looked at his superior, but neither one had the answer. "Who knows? It's not like most folk need a reason to be pissed at him."

"Connor never said?" Kyle asked. Now he was curious as well.

The elder guard shook his head. "Nope. Some folks thought it was shame, but Connor wasn't one to keep quiet even if it crapped on his reputation. We had *him* in here once."

"Really?" Kyle asked. "Why?"

"Suspected of fixing prices with the other bars."

"And what happened?"

The guard just shrugged, as if it was nothing. "Wasn't him after all."

Rathley suddenly chuckled from the bed. "Heh, don't suppose I get the bar then? You used to do trial by shootout around here."

"Not likely," the guard said, though he sounded amused as well. "That'll be Ben's, once he's old enough to know what he's doing."

Rathley blinked and sat up. "Ben?"

The younger guard nodded seriously. "Connor's kid."

Thankfully, Rathley didn't follow that with a quip. He just rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

"So what did you do that was worth killing that boy's father?" Sharn asked spitefully.

"... He'll probably be better off. I can't imagine Connor was the world's greatest Dad."

"You're trying to justify this?"

Rathley huffed. "I don't have to justify it. I like to think you'd have tracked him down and shot him anyway if he'd offed me."

"Probably," Kyle agreed, "but you're not doing a good job of selling it, old man."

"I don't have to. Milla's the one I've got to talk outta killin' me."

"You're not doing such a good job of that either, Rathley."

All seven of them, the guards included, sat up and stared at the high window the voice had come from. The voice of Conner's widow, Milla.

All eyes turned to Rathley as they heard footsteps disappear. To Abigail's relief, and Rathley's credit, he did look genuinely regretful for one brief moment. Hopefully for the right reasons.

"What surprises me," said the younger guard, after a moment, "is that you survived to see your cell. If I'd been out there I'd have blown your head off, money or not."

Rathley huffed. "One of your mates *did* take his pop at me." He pointed to his bandaged leg. "Lucky for me everyone wants to make an example outta me."

"Not quite," the older guard corrected him. "The chief's just not so big on execution. We're not barbarians here."

It was then that the door to the prison block opened, and Milla walked in. "Yes, profiteering is enough for us."

Milla's voice outside had made her sound younger than she was. She was a well fed woman somewhere in her forties or early fifties if Abigail had to guess, and she was less lean than most other women she had seen in Corva. Not even close to fat by Abigail's civilised vault standards, but better fed than most on the surface. She wore a very pretty pre-war dress that must have cost a great deal of caps, and her heavily greying hair was long and plaited, hanging in hoops down her neck.

The guards both got to their feet as she made her entrance, and the elder of the pair gave her a weak smile. "Milla, that's not very kind."

"I have been paying for my late husband's burial," she said as she passed the two men. "Kindness isn't a priority of mine right now."

She turned to regard the five Scavs in their cages, and Abigail tried to avoid looking away. "Umm, Milla? I'm sorry we couldn't stop him. Or find some other way-"

Milla glanced her way and quietened her with a shake of her head. "It has been coming for the last eight years, girl. Connor was almost as bad at making friends as Rathley. Outside town, at least."

Then she looked at Rathley himself. "Did you know that I didn't intend to fulfil my husband's contract?"

Rathley nodded. "It was a very good tip."

"Well, like chief Allan, I don't think this town looks as nice with blood splashed all over the street." She glanced at his bandaged leg. "So congratulations on disappointing me despite my best efforts to keep you both alive."

"I'd have stayed away if he'd kept it inside Micasa," Rathley said, but Milla didn't want to hear it.

"And now he's paid the price for his stupid little vendetta. And so have I and Benjamin."

At the sound of her son's name Rathley looked away. "Sorry. Didn't know you had a sprog."

"You mean you forgot."

"... I suppose so."

"Would it have changed your mind if you'd remembered?"

Rathley shook his head and looked back up to her. "Probably not."

"Then don't pretend it would have." She turned to the guards. "Let the rest go. He can stay until I've decided what I want to do with him."

Abigail looked at her in surprise, and realised that she was not the only one. "We can go?"

Milla nodded. "This contract was always about my husband and him. That's how I want it to end as well."

***

The day was late by the time Abigail could finish her walk down Micasa's main street. Perhaps it was because she had spent most of the day in a prison cell, but she found herself looking at the place with more appreciative eyes. The wooden buildings harked back to time before the war in a way that Corva's scrap and clay houses could never have done. Also, now that the four of them were regarded with such wary suspicion she could see how welcoming they had looked in comparison when she and the others had first arrived.

It was a shame they couldn't take advantage of that friendliness after the fact. Instead they checked themselves into one of the many bar-cum-inns that graced the street, rather than tempt providence. It would be better to spread the word that they were not a threat slowly, rather than going on a shopping spree so soon. Once they had done a little bar hopping and made the most of the friends Kyle and Chopper already had it shouldn't take long for the newly formed ice to melt.

After paying for their rooms Kyle and Sharn stayed down in the bar of the Sundown Dance, while Abigail and Chopper left for their room. Kyle was an infrequent visitor to Micasa, but a well liked one. Chopper was, true to what Abigail knew of her reputation, both even less frequently seen and much less liked.

"I'm surprised that we escaped unharmed," Abigail admitted in the privacy of their room. "And that Rathley only got a minor bullet wound. The mercs in Corva would have killed him."

"That's the reason he did it," Chopper explained. "Individually, people are assholes. Plenty of the people here would have put a bullet in him. As a community though, that's different. It's not good for a town if it lets its inhabitants blow each other away over every little thing. When we were working with the Mercs we were working with lots of paid individuals, not a community with community morals and laws."

"So this man Connor put a price on Rathley's head instead of just shooting him? That doesn't sound much better."

"Different towns have different ways of approaching the problem. Here you have to make it public by taking out a contract. You offer a public reward and you let someone else deal with your grievance any way they want. And anyone can do it. They can make it as gruesome or merciful a death as they want. Do it yourself though, and you're as bad as the raiders."

"The thing is," she went on, smirking to herself, "without that cash incentive the contract might as well be void. Between them Rathley and Milla have made sure he doesn't have to worry about some random cap-hungry gunman now. He obviously knows the woman he widowed, so he's betting on her being the decent sort. Or she might be in his pocket already, given the story."

Abigail understood what she meant. It was all a little odd. Rathley's supposed crime was committed over a decade ago, but it was only eight years or so later that Connor filed a contract with the police chief. And Rathley's last visit had been a whole year before *that*.

Abigail sighed and began unpacking her things. "So what do *we* do? Rathley came here to kill him, and he's done that. But now he's stuck in prison, or worse."

"He'll get out. It's like a talent of his. Either that or Milla decides to fuck him over anyway, and we get to rescue him."

"Does he deserve rescuing?"

Chopper shrugged, still smiling darkly. "He never did. It hasn't stopped us before. I thought he was growing on you recently."

"Yeah. And then he had to do this."

"We *knew* what he was coming here for."

The thought made Abigail feel dirty. It hadn't seemed real before. Just a random threat, like so many that got thrown around up on the surface. "I know."

Abigail extracted her bottle cap bag to get at the rest of her things and it rattled as she let it fall onto the double bed. That made her pause.

Chopper stared at her for a moment. "You're not going to count them all *again* are you?"

Abigail upended the bag, letting out her flood of material wealth, and began to do just that.

"Hey now, Abby-"

Abigail was in no mood to debate with her though. "It rattled. I made sure to tie it as tight as possible before we left Corva so it wouldn't do that, and again after that motor scrap yard."

Chopper looked impressed, and more than a little baffled. "You did?"

Abigail nodded. "It was loud enough to hear through my bag. I didn't want it attracting mantises or anything. Or pissing you off." She huffed. "Did the prison warders go through it or something?"

"I'd expect them to, but they took your caps?" Chopper asked seriously. "How much? More than a handful?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out. Help me count."

***

"Three hundred?!"

Chopper nodded as Sharn and Kyle looked at the both in surprise.

"Three hundred and seventeen to be exact," Chopper drawled. She looked tired, and it was now very late.

Sharn on the other hand seemed fairly unaffected by either how late it was or her last few hours of drinking. "You counted them all?"

"Twice."

Kyle shook his head in confusion. "Who the hell has the balls to steal three hundred caps left in their own custody? You're bound to get caught! That's not pocket change; I could buy another ten mil pistol for that, and ammo to fill it!"

Chopper looked at him with an expression that told him to think a bit harder about the situation. "But when you're carting around over two thousand in hard caps? We'd never have noticed if Abby wasn't so fastidious."

Sharn looked thoughtful when it was said like that. "That is a lot of bottle caps. I guess they figured we wouldn't miss a couple of hundred."

Abigail didn't see it that way though. "But I earned them! That was my pay! My... my loot too, I guess. But I didn't fight off raiders and mutant monsters to have my money stolen as soon as I leave Corva!"

"We know that, Abby-girl. I mean, now I'm going to have to check my stuff too, but..."

"It happens," Chopper finished for her, far too bluntly for Abigail's tastes. "We did say it's worth putting your cash into assets."

Abigail couldn't believe Chopper was treating her like she'd been a stupid child again. "What!? You never said anything like that! I... how was I supposed to know?"

She felt herself wilting, instead of raging. If she wanted to rage, that was what the Buffout was for, but Abigail Iseley wasn't so good at it when she didn't have a target that deserved her wrath. "No-one ever stole in Vault 24. You just... didn't. Everything belonged to everyone. Why the hell can't you people make it work like that up here as well!?"

There was a short silence after that outburst. Abigail had a right to be angry, and even Chopper wasn't going to take that from her. "Simple," the doctor said, after the moment had passed. "People are assholes, like I said."

It didn't do much for Abigail's mood though. "Yeah, you'd know better than anyone."

Chopper shrugged at the barbed insult. She didn't look particularly offended, but she did lose some of her edge. "...Maybe so."

"Easy guys," Kyle said, holding his hands up. "If you two want to fight then why don't you just skip straight to the reconciliatory sex and save the shooting for the cops, huh? There's a couple of people I want to talk to before we do anything, and it sounds like it'd be worth seeing if I'm missing any ammunition."

Sharn didn't look happy with Chopper's attitude, but she had to agree. "Even better, you might want to skip the sex too. You both look terrible."

"It's not everyday I get thrown in prison because one of the people I though was trying to be a friend decides to commit murder in broad daylight," Abigail replied. It was supposed to be light hearted, but she was too tired and it just came out sounding strained.

"Honestly? It's a first for me too," Sharn agreed, taking no offence. "Not that I'd call him anything close to a friend."

"Just get some sleep, and don't worry," Kyle advised. "We'll decide what to do about it tomorrow."

Once they had left Abigail sighed, while Chopper climbed onto the bed to sit behind her. "Shall we take his advice then?" the older woman asked with honey in her voice.

Abigail was not impressed. "You were trying to start a fight just to get laid?"

Chopper shrugged, as if unconcerned. "Well, if it won't make you feel any better..."

Of course, that was a calculated line if ever there was one. Abigail was feeling foolish, vulnerable and exploited, and the catharsis - both emotional and physical - would have made the night so much more bearable. But Chopper must have known that from the start, and all the fighting had just been an unpleasant joke and an unwanted, aloof lecture.

Abigail pulled her jacket off and began to strip out of her jumpsuit. "I'm not in the mood."

"That's okay," Chopper said softly. She had evidently been undressing as well because a pair of bare, heavy breasts pressed themselves into Abigail's back, and Chopper gave Abigail's cheek a kiss from behind. "You're the one who needs the remuneration."

"Oh, so it's an excuse to apologise?"

"If you like. You *do* look like you need a chance to relax." She pulled Abigail onto the bed and pulled both her leather pants and jumpsuit trousers from her in one go.

Abigail looked up at the woman sitting between her legs. "And you call this 'relaxing'?"

Chopper leaned down over her and gave her a light kiss. Abigail let her, but still didn't move to co-operate. "Why not? I'll handle the both of us, if you promise not to move a muscle."

Oh, for heaven's sake, Abigail thought. Chopper was really laying it on thickly this time, and annoyingly that smirking charm was beginning to make her feel tingly inside. "Where's the fun in that? What if I want to hold you?"

In reply Chopper took one of her hands held it in her own, palm outwards. She traced their index fingers down between her heavy breasts, hers guiding Abigail's down to her navel. "I can try and find our hands something to do."

Abigail was starting to feel better already, just looking at that confident smile on Chopper's face as she played her silly game. And there she was lying stark naked on their bed, with Chopper sitting comfortably between her legs and waiting patiently for permission.

"Okay."

***

The room was dark, and Abigail couldn't move. She could feel Chopper's body, warm and comforting, lying over her right arm, but Chopper didn't move to help her. Was she still asleep? Couldn't she tell that Abigail was panicking in the dark? Couldn't she tell that Abigail couldn't breathe?

Abigail tried to lash out at the weight on her chest, but her arms wouldn't respond. It would have been natural for her legs to kick in desperation, but they ignored her every urgent request. She was trapped in her own unresponsive body while her lungs burned for oxygen.

"She's kind of fat, isn't she Abby?" Gillian asked from on top of her. Dim vault lights, a mere 40 watts each, seemed as bright as the sun now. Who had been playing with the contrast settings on the monitor this time?

"G... Gillian?" Abigail gasped. She flushed scarlet, even as she tried to breathe. What was her old crush doing invading her privacy like this? Couldn't she at least knock before walking in on her and Chopper. And why was she clothed if Abigail was naked. It made Abigail look as if she didn't fit into the burningly bright vault, the way the tattered double bed didn't. The way Chopper's sleeping form didn't.

"Oh, come on, it's not like I haven't seen you naked before," Gillian said with a casual wave of her hand. "But really, look at her Abby. Her boobs might be big but look at them sag. And she's got a gut, and those are some *huge* thighs!"

"She not... perfect," Abigail wheezed, "but... neither am... I. Neither are... you."

"Wow, that's below the belt, Abby. Come on, she's a wreck."

"... So is... everyone... out there."

Gillian's eyebrows fled up behind her fringe of dreadlocks. "Really?" She leaned over from her seat on Abigail's sternum and peered at Chopper more closely. Now that the colours were fixed she could take a proper look at her. "Damn. That sucks."

"Gillian? Why are... you crushing me? ... It hurts!"

Gillian looked back to her and made a thinking face. "You should know better, Abby. And I have a right to be jealous! Is she so much better than me? She's turned you into a murderer."

Abigail's eyes fell from her friends. "I... did that... to myself."

"Bullshit! I know what you were like. *You* know what you were like! You've changed, Abby."

"I thought... you'd accepted me... like this."

Gillian frowned down at her, slapping a hand onto each of her knees. "What dream world have you been living in?!"

One that wasn't like this, Abigail realised, and with a shudder and a heaving gasp her eyes flew open.

It was a dream, she repeated to herself as she lay shivering in the spacious double bed. Just a dream. Oh God had that had been frightening. She hadn't had nightmares like *that* before!

Next to her Chopper groaned and her eyes creaked open. "What? Abby? Since when d'you wake up early?"

Abigail turned to look at her, her breaths till ragged. She pulled her right arm from under Chopper, forcing the older woman to lean up and let her free. "It's nothing," Abigail replied. She turned away from her lover, disappointed that Chopper had to be more than half-awake if she was to be any kind of comfort. "A bad dream."

"Bad? How bad?"

"Bad enough." That was the truth. Gillian had always been an ally in Abigail's dreams. A friend, a lover and a kind fantasy. Even the memory of that dream, of her being so disappointed, angry and cruel, was enough to make Abigail shiver again.

Then, to Abigail's surprise, Chopper pulled her over and into a close, sleepy embrace. "Fair enough. Was a nasty day. Go back to sleep, hmm?"

With her head resting on Chopper's breast Abigail tried to do just that. "Thanks, Chopper."

Hang on, why was she still calling her lover that? Abigail knew her real name. She should want to think of her as that, rather than 'Chopper'. "I mean, Marie."

Chopper hugged her a little tighter. "Don' call me that, okay hon? I don' wanna spank you right now."

***

Daybreak was subdued, and in Kyle's mind that set the tone for the entire morning. Sia was sulking and didn't want to have her foul mood lifted, Abigail was in guilt mode yet again and even Chopper had passed on the coffee and bought herself a beer to start the day with.

Then again, Kyle had to admit that he had been looking for a much easier visit as well. Say hello to a few old friends, sell their motor-yard loot, kill someone the night before they leave, move on. Instead it was going something like: Meet some old friends, become party to a killing in broad daylight, spend the day in jail, have Sia in no mood for sex while Chopper does who knows what to Abigail in the next room, and now try and find out what shit-head stole Abigail's cash and get it back without being thrown back in the slammer with Rathley.

All in all, it was a pretty crappy morning.

"So what's the plan?" Chopper asked between gulps of beer. "Do I have time to set up shop?"

Kyle thought that was optimistic, and not particularly helpful right now. "I wouldn't, unless anyone asks. They know who you are, and it's not like we need the income."

"You *could* come with me and help try and get my caps back," Abigail told her. Kyle felt a little pride when Abigail spoke up to Chopper like that. If she was showing her backbone it meant she wasn't dwelling on Connor's death as much as he had thought.

"That's probably best," he agreed. "They're less likely to give you a hard time if Chopper and Sia are with you."

"You're not coming too?" Sia asked. The idea seemed to break her out of her funk, if only to leave her disappointed. "I thought you knew these people."

Kyle shook his head. "Not the law. Frank and Kana don't count. They're not on the police payroll."

"So who does pay them?"

Kyle knew it was going to sound bizarre, but he told her anyway. If she didn't believe it, she didn't believe it. "No-one. The casinos, bars and brothels used to pay them for the advertising, but they're pretty much figure heads now. They get a free pass for every business in town."

As he'd expected Sia looked astonished. "You're kidding."

Chopper shook her head though, backing him up. "He's not. Those two are welcoming committee, lookout and gate guard. Those aren't easy boots to fill if they decide to walk out."

"And they're known for not taking advantage of their freedoms. Unlike the real law, it seems."

While Sia looked impressed Abigail just looked baffled. "So who guards the town while they're asleep? It can't be just the two of them."

Chopper nodded, explaining. "True, but they're the ones who stand out there and do the greeting thing. There's zero traffic in or out of here at night, so the cops just have spotters on the night shift. If anyone leaves then, it's because they've done something the cops want to know about."

"Anyway," Kyle said, getting back to the point. "I'll have another chat with them. It has been a while since any of us was last here, so maybe things have changed for the worst. They'll be the ones who know about it."

Sia sighed, but accepted with a nod. "Okay. How did you get to know them anyway? The guy, Frank, he acted like you were long lost friends."

Kyle smiled inadvertently. Those were some cool all-nighter stories. "We can't seem to beat each other at cards. Ever. We ended up passed out over the table more than once because of that."

"Though you've had to call it a night while he was ahead once or twice," Chopper added with a trouble-making grin.

Kyle grinned right back, and decided to leave it at that while his pride was still intact. "So has he. He's good, but I'll beat him properly one day."

***

Kyle could understand the others' dislike of the town. Neither Sharn nor Abigail were enamoured by brothels, the beer was too cheap and the liquor too pricy, and if you weren't careful either the merchants or the many makeshift casinos would end up taking the clothes right off your back. To Kyle though, it just gave the place character. The tight bar-room brawls, the dark faces peering over their cards, the ever welcoming lilt of a good whore from her window - it was a place a real explorer could relax without making him lazy and dull-witted.

But he'd never been robbed by town police before, and frankly he had expected better than that from Micasa. He had spent enough time there to know many people by name, and those people knew him by sight even after his years away. His name was even written in the town's tax book, and he had a girl of his own - 'girl', he laughed, she'd be in her late thirties now, she was older than him - who was his at The Killer Kitten if he only asked, and probably even if he didn't. Not that Sia needed to know that.

As such this added corruption was either a new side to the town, or one that he'd never noticed in the past. Hopefully it was the former, but either way it was a nasty disappointment.

"Hi Frank. Have you got a minute?"

Looking out into the desert, it was clear that the greeting guard had all the time in the world. It must have been a slow day. "Sure. I tried to put in a word for you, man."

Kyle smiled and shook his head, not believing it for a second. "I'm not here about that."

Kana wandered over, evidently just as bored as her partner. "I warned him, but I can't believe he just shot Connor in broad daylight. That man is just... Argh! You're not going to do anything stupid are you, Kyle?"

Kyle gave her a look that said 'don't ask'. "That's not what I'm worried about either."

"You're not?!" Kana exclaimed. "I would be!"

Kyle sighed. Kana was nice enough, but she did grind her axe a little too hard when it was given to her. "Look, Frank, do you know the new police at all? They've change since I was here."

Frank shrugged, but it was clear that his guard was up. He knew Kyle wasn't asking out of simple curiosity. "Not particularly. Cops don't stick around here too long, you know that. One too many guns around to make it a secure job. Besides, a lot of them aren't the type I'd want to socialise with."

Kana agreed, so Kyle pushed the question. "So, between us, just how bent are they?"

Kana stared at him boggle eyed, and her mouth shut very quickly. Frank was less obvious about it. "...So they pulled that customs shtick on you?"

That wasn't a routine Kyle knew. "Customs shtick?"

Frank sighed, and tried to explain in a hushed voice. "If you can confront them about it, that's what they'll say. That's what it is, right? They took some of your gear?"

Kyle nodded.

"It's the 'undesirables tax'. Except they usually tell you if you've been taxed for wasting their time in prison. I guess someone down there decided he wanted a bigger cut this time."

Kyle didn't like the terminology that Frank used there. "You make it sound like a scam. This isn't in the town law book?"

"Of course it is! But Chief Allen writes the law book, remember?"

"Frank!" Kana urged him to stop talking, but Frank had a few things to make clear.

"It's legal now, so people just don't talk about it. Like they don't talk about the deal Layla, Connor and Ratchet had. Or about Sandy's back room. But like I said, someone decided they wanted to do it off the books if you didn't get told. Allen might do something about that."

"Maybe," Kyle agreed, "but my friend wouldn't see her caps back."

"... Probably not."

Kana broke her silence again, now looking properly distraught. "Frank! Stop it! You're going to get in so much trouble!"

Kyle looked at her squarely. "Why? If these customs are legal..?"

Kana faltered. "Because..."

"Because most folks don't stick around here very long," Frank repeated. "One too many guns around to make for secure jobs. Because those that do stick it out? They tend to get greedy."

Kyle gave both of them a careful look. Frank looked tired for the first time in his life, but stalwart and unrepentant after his admission. Kana on the other hand, she looked guilty for her part in whatever deal had been made between the old hands of the town.

Another disappointment, but one that Kyle couldn't blame them for. They were the good people of the town and friends he had spent six years of his life with, taking other peoples' money with cards and dice, and practicing his aim. He nodded to them.

"Thanks guys. I'll see you, hopefully."

And he left them standing there, not wanting details about what it was they had bought into, and hopefully leaving them thinking about what he was going to do because of it.

***

"They said we could have kept a better eye out for pickpockets!" Sharn was fuming in what Abigail thought was rather cute indignation, but she didn't have a chance to enjoy it because she was too busy fuming alongside her.

"We weren't even in town long enough to get our pockets picked! And I think I would have noticed anyone burrowing into my bag like that."

The four of them sat in Abigail and Chopper's room, away from prying ears.

"Did you try to talk to Allen?" Kyle asked. Abigail felt rather inadequate under his disapproving gaze. It wasn't anything to do with her, she was sure, but it tweaked at her natural guilt reflex.

"Well, we said that pick-pocketing should be their job to sort out. But they blew us off."

"And they had guns," Chopper added with her own special brand of bored, condescending venom. "Big, scary shotguns."

She huffed. She'd bought her third beer of the day when they had got back from the police shack, saying that it would be the less anti-social method of anger management. She had always disliked Micasa's showy, shallow atmosphere, and finding some hidden depths to the place wasn't improving her opinion now.

"Besides," she said, swirling the beer around in its half empty bottle, "I want to know how much they'd want to keep their little theft a secret before I push my luck."

"Very secret would be my guess," Kyle said. "Whoever it was is probably cutting the rest of the cops out of the deal. Otherwise they'd be openly taxing us for taking up their prison space."

"What?" That whole scenario seemed absurd to poor, sensible Abigail. "They stole what they could have taken anyway? Legally? Even though we'd want to get back at them for it?"

"We would?" Chopper asked, making Abigail pause.

"... Don't we?" Did they consider it too much of a risk? Was three hundred caps too little to start antagonising this thieving cop?

Sharn sighed and shot the amused Chopper a look. "Of course we do. The question is how and when? We didn't get any idea which one might have taken them."

"And it probably wasn't just one," Chopper added. "Three hundred splits nicely between three or four when it doesn't have to go into the town safe."

Kyle shook his head. "Not the safe. It's a tax because the chief got caught doing the exact same thing, so he invented a reason to justify it. It'll get shared out between him and the town guard under the guise of ammunition allowance or something."

"I though Chief Allen was supposed to be a decent guy," Sharn said. "The town has a good enough reputation."

That was also the opinion Abigail had got from Celia's PipBoy notations. It was supposed to be the spendthrift and self-indulgent visitors and card-sharp casino owners who were the ones to look out for, and the police who were always trying to keep it all friendly. Now the police were the corrupt ones?

"Allen is a decent Chief," Kyle said with a nod, "but he wouldn't be in charge if people didn't want him there. He does his job and he lets the landlords and madams do theirs, who let the drinkers, gamblers and prostitutes do theirs, but it's always in their interests to let those above them have that power. If Allen tried to tighten the place up too much he'd have the merchants or his own town guards looking to get him replaced. So, there's a little give and take either way, and he's evidently not above making the most of it."

"This doesn't look like it comes as much of a surprise," Abigail noted, as gently as she could. "So why are you so angry about it?"

Kyle gave her a brief, dark look. "Because that's how it always worked here, at least when I was around, but you always knew where you stood and what the deal involved. Both sides always agreed, or it fell apart. Cops stealing from the visitors? That's it falling, right there, so someone's going to have to deal with it. Like they dealt with Connor's price fixing."

Chopper's attention snapped back to the conversation. "He *was* cutting a deal with the other bars?"

Kyle nodded. "And Allen had to call him on it, because that wasn't in the town's interests. He took the fall, and the status quo returned."

"So if these guards take the fall..?" Abigail started, until Kyle shook his head.

"The shit hits the fan. People will want their share of whatever these guys have taken, and the townsfolk will want a lynching. Except it won't change anything, except get people looking at that dodgy customs tax again."

"And that's not a good thing?"

"Not if they decide they don't like what's been going on. Someone'll take the matter into their own hands, even if it's just the twitchy casino con-men, and then we're back to merchant warfare."

That didn't sound good, but thankfully for Abigail Chopper seemed unconvinced. "As a worst case scenario. People seem settled enough. We didn't get as much drama over Rathley killing Connor as I'd have expected."

"Maybe," Kyle agreed, if reluctantly, "but why risk it when we can simply scare these couple of pricks into behaving again, along with getting our stuff back?"

All three of them stared at him. Did he already have a plan? Chopper quirked a cautious eyebrow, "What do you have in mind, and how can I get out of it?"

***

The simple answer was: she couldn't. The complex answer was that she was instrumental to the idea that had formed in Kyle's mind, and as such she didn't get a choice this time. Thankfully she didn't put up any real protests so the rest of the day was spent planning and plotting, and ironing out every possible wrinkle of what soon became more than a minor operation.

"Didn't you want to spend some real time here though?" Sharn had asked him when the scale of it was becoming clear. "Look up your old crowd?"

Kyle had just shaken his head. "We have other things to worry about now. Better to get this done and go before they forget why they're being robbed. Besides, Rathley'll get lonely if we take too long."

"Bleh, I'd let him rot."

Except that she wouldn't. Breaking Rathley out of jail would end up being the pivot around their revenge, and with the correct help would allow everyone to get away without being noticed. Rathley would have to give the town a wide berth from then on, but he'd probably banked on that anyway since he had gone there specifically to commit murder in the first place.

From within Abigail's far too lucid dreamscape, Gillian and Overseer Beatrice looked down at the three dimensional map on the Vault library's digital tabletop. The bird's eye view showed Micasa's west side in stunning detail, and Abigail puffed with pride at her ability to digitize it. All three of them wore their special issue Vault 42 covert uniforms.

"So, your decoy here," Overseer Beatrice poked a finger at the prison building, "makes for your alibi when you actually spring captive R. Who becomes decoy number three by escaping, allowing the infiltration team out of the police building proper."

The homely older woman pulled her short wavy hair away from her face for the umpteenth time. It was one of the gestures that had first caught Abigail's eye, before she had become the focus of her most infrequent but intense crushes. But in that noir air the Overseer looked clear and focused. "But a lot will be hanging on whether you can trust your first two decoys and the insider."

Special agent Abigail agreed. "Unfortunately that's out of my hands. Agents K and C will be enlisting their aid while I and agent S finish our original mission and collect the payment."

"And you trust them?" agent Gillian asked. "They are too close to the enemy. Too much past. You can see it in their eyes."

"We have no choice," special agent Abigail replied. "If any one of us drops the ball then the mission collapses. We're just as much a liability as they are."

Overseer Beatrice looked her straight in the eye. She needed to be sure that her own Agent was not being put on the line for nothing. "And this 'captive R'... He's worth the risk?"

"Even if he wasn't, he's needed for the operation," Abigail replied. She knew she was hedging her bets, but in truth she just didn't know. Not yet. But she would find out. "We get his trust at least, and he'll be helping us get our money back. If he's going to play double agent, I'd rather he owed *us* his loyalty."

Overseer Beatrice and agent Gillian shared a look, before the Overseer agreed. "Very well. What's the operation schedule?"

"One day's preparation, and a two hour window once we give our infiltration team the go. And we can pull out as long as we do so before decoy 2 starts the second phase. After that... it's all or nothing."

***

To be continued...

***

Author's Note: While ff-dot-net's dot-html compatibility seems to be wonky (and many thanks to Spikesagitta for alerting me to that fact, and for his unwavering feedback on the story) they do seem to have fixed the layout on dot-doc files now! And asterisks work again! Now you are reading this in the way it was written, and not with dashes seperating and emphasising everything!

Anyway, please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2009


	11. Dangerous People

After the Vault: Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

***

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 11

Dangerous People

"That was an awful lot of... stuff... just for some map co-ordinates."

Sharn looked up from her seat on the deck, which ran around 'The Adventurers' scav shop. She could understand Abigail's confusion. Between them she, Kyle and Chopper had been trying to educate Abigail on the worth of produce and services in the wasteland, and now she was being made to sort through used boots, broken weaponry and canned food to find the value in the trade Sharn had made.

"Yeah, I know it's junk, Abby, but if it's junk we need? Honestly, we did get a good price. Especially since you could provide those PipBoy numbers."

Abigail didn't look entirely convinced, and held up the pair of boots they had taken as part of their payment. "Sharn, these are falling apart."

True enough the leather had already been torn, which wasn't helping their condition as they were held up by the ankles.

"But look at the soles. They're in good condition, and my ancestors know that *he* gets through boots fast enough. We don't need the rest, but those soles will last a while once he cobbles them onto the boots he has."

By 'he', Sharn meant Rathley. She had accepted that they were breaking him out now. She didn't like it, but it was necessary. Even Abigail had said that keeping Rathley feeling like part of the team was sensible. After all, what would happen if they left him there and he got free anyway? Keeping him sympathetic towards them was the safest course of action, and Abigail had obviously convinced herself that he wasn't irredeemably evil. There must have been something more than the bounty notice that would make him want to kill Connor like that.

Sharn didn't agree, she knew Rathley better than that, but at the same time she had been as shaken as everyone by Rathley's lesson when he left them with the floater. She owed him. In the three years she had travelled with him he had been the deciding factor in a great many life or death situations. He deserved every slur and bullet thrown his way, and yet if it weren't for him Kyle would not have been the talented wanderer and gunman he was today, and Sharn herself would still be relying on her mother's superstitious tribal teachings to keep her alive in the desert.

Abigail broke her out of her conflicted reverie with an incredulous question.

"He can cobble?"

Sharn nodded, annoyed at how impressed Abigail sounded. "What *can't* the bastard do?" she asked rhetorically.

Abigail was obviously out to try and lighten Sharn's mood. "He can't get out of his own messes without you?"

And Sharn was grateful for Abigail's levity. Whatever misgivings she had about the girl's sexuality, Abigail was a better friend these days that Kyle was. She seemed to go out of her way to help, even if she didn't always succeed. "Yeah," she chuckled, "you can say that again. Half of my job with that lot is talking them out of trouble."

She held up an ancient can of Cram processed meat. "And negotiating our pay."

Abigail grimaced for a moment, before she looked up and focused on the can. "Are you really going to eat that? I mean, those tins have to be a hundred years old!"

Sharn nodded, fully intending on doing just that. "It's better than iguana every day, Abby-girl. Chopper says it's pumped full of more preservatives than a stimpak, so as long as it doesn't glow in the dark you're fine!"

Abigail made a face and stuck out her tongue. "If you say so."

"Your, er, 'girlfriend' says so."

Abigail shrugged. "It's still nasty. You've got me used to real meat, so I think I'll stick with real meat."

"You didn't have Cram in your vault?"

Abigail shook her head, as if it should have been obvious. "We didn't have *any* packaged food in our vault by the time I was born. Not besides chocolate bars and reconstituted potato chips. We had to grow everything."

It sounded pretty idyllic to Sharn, but she didn't say so. She didn't know what kind of hardships Abigail might have had underground. "Well, I guess that gave you something to do down there," she joked, not wanting her friend to start thinking too hard about what she had lost.

"Yeah. I guess it did." Abigail replied, smiling, but without the jollity Sharn had hoped for. "I thought I was getting on okay, but I still miss it, you know? My family, my friends, having a role in life."

Sharn didn't know - how could she? - but she nodded and lied for Abigail's sake. "Of course you miss it. I would, if Kyle or my village had been taken from me. But look at you: you're one of us now. Fuck knows what we would have done against the Hearts without you."

Abigail looked at her, and Sharn really did see a wastelander there. The black leather, reclaimed and sanitised from the Diamonds. The composed look radiating from the blank shades. The confident, upright walk she had cultivated to blend in with the mercs. Enough fearlessness to pick a fight with raiders, or jack herself up on drugs she didn't understand without a second thought, because that was what she needed to do to make her kill.

And the girl could only surprise her by shattering that image with her small, uncertain voice. "But I'm not one of you. I'm still just a vault girl."

Sharn looked at her in incredulity. What the hell was going through Abigail's mind to make her think that way after everything they had done together? After the plans Abigail herself had come up with to help free Rathley and get her caps back.

"Abby-girl, just look around you a minute," she said as she started to stuff their miscellaneous payment into her bag.

"I know," Abigail replied, still looking the part that apparently she didn't feel. "They're staring at us."

"Yeah. At *us*." That was Sharn's point. "*Two* scavs who were involved in Rathley burying some kind of major mover in this town. And you're the woman who took down the Hearts' super mutant! What part of you isn't a wastelander, Abby-girl?"

To Sharn's satisfaction, Abigail didn't seem able to answer that.

"If you're worried, you can talk to me," Sharn added, much less vibrantly. "That's why I'm with them, remember? I'm good at talking things out."

Abigail took a breath, but she shook her head. "No, I think I'm okay. But thanks, Sharn."

Then, after a moment, Abigail spoke up again. "We don't have much to do right now, do we?"

Sharn shook her head. "Not with my gunner-man and Chopper out setting things up." In truth she had several thing she wanted to do while the plotters were making inquiries and testing the ground for that night, but if Abigail had her own ideas it might make her feel better to go with those instead. "What do you have in mind?"

"I want to know why Rathley did it. What was worth *him* almost getting killed by the police?"

Sharn had chalked it up to Rathley being his own reprehensible self, but now that she mentioned it, Abigail did have a valid point. Sharn smiled. She probably didn't want to know the answer, but with their Scav business finished it was more productive than going back to the bar.

"Then let's go and ask."

***

Finding Milla was easy, even for a pair of girls who had never visited Micasa before. Connor had owned one of the larger watering holes on Micasa's main street, and while the smaller bars did a better trade in beer, 'The Dusty Wagon' seemed to be the place to go for hard liquor.

As before, enough of the patrons recognised them either by face or reputation for the place to fall noticeably quieter. That was a bad sign, Abigail thought, but then she'd thought the same thing at the Scav shop, and the inn where they were staying, and pretty much everywhere else in town. One red-faced card sharp rose to his feet, but to Abigail's relief he didn't make a move. Someone else made a remark, but it wasn't clear who.

"They got some real brass balls showin' up here."

That fractured, alcohol-laced air was frightening, but Abigail hid her worry well behind her dark glasses. Sharn stood defiantly in the doorway, daring any of them to say she wasn't allowed in, but Abigail didn't want to tempt their patience. She ignored the faces looking their way and strode over to the bar.

"Sipping whiskey, please. For my friend as well."

The bartender, a tall, moustached man in a well tailored waistcoat, pulled a bottle and two glasses from the back wall. "How much will you be trading for?"

Abigail pulled six caps from her pocket and hoped it would be enough. "I'd also like a favour to go with it."

The barman raised an eyebrow and stopped pouring. "Such as?"

Abigail tried to look as honest as she could without taking her shades off. "We want to speak to the owner."

By now Sharn had joined her at the bar, but if the quiet had been worrisome when they arrived it became deafening now.

"Girl, your... companion, shot the owner two days ago."

"Then who owns this place now?" Sharn asked, taking a glass in her fingers. It sounded like a remarkably reasonable question coming from her. No wonder the others let her do their talking for them. "We think that she would be willing to see us, if she has time."

The barman gave them both an unimpressed look, but it was clear that he didn't want to get involved in matters of security. "Andus, go and see if the mistress wants anything to do with these two."

The man who *was* obviously security gave them a dirty look, but did as he was told.

"And why," asked the barman as they waited, "might the mistress want to see you? You have caused an awful lot of trouble for her already. Not to mention ending a marriage of twenty nine years."

Sharn huffed into her drink. "Not our finest hour, I can tell you."

The barman's left eyebrow rose sharply up his tall forehead. "I can imagine. Especially with word of your apparent heroics down south, beyond the caravan trails. It is quite a feat to bring down a man armed with brotherhood technology, let alone the kind of monstrosity we've heard described. If the stories are to be believed, you are quite proficient killers."

That felt like a knife in Abigail's stomach if anything did. She took a sip of the fiery liquor and suppressed her reflexive choke. "I think we've done more than enough of that," she said. She could hear how morbid she sounded, and she hoped that wouldn't mess up her chances of seeing Milla. "Don't you?"

The burley security man returned in his own time, but with a much less dark expression on his face. "She'll see you. Follow me."

Abigail forced herself to finish the rest of her whiskey - god did that burn! - while Sharn just took her glass with her, letting it hang from her fingers.

"Don't worry," Sharn said with a smile that the barman might not have found reassuring, but Abigail certainly did. "We'll behave."

***

In contrast Milla herself was more composed than when they had last met, if that was possible. Abigail had thought it strange how reasonable and calm the greying woman had been when she had visited them in prison, but now no-one would ever have guessed that she was two days widowed. Her eyes had a keen, hard edge to them - the same intelligent, considering look Lilis had worn in the mercenary troupe - and she invited them into her room without so much as a second thought. She even dismissed the bouncer, despite his halted protests.

She sat herself down in an antique looking upholstered chair - a luxury on the surface - and settled her skirt, before bidding them sit in similar seats.

"I would ask what it is you want from me," she said with a knowing look, "but I think I can already guess that."

"We're not here to ask for leniency towards the bastard, if that's what you're guessing," Sharn replied. And she wasn't hiding her disgust of him in the slightest.

Milla responded with a surprised look, but while Abigail was no expert at reading people Sharn seemed to have the knack. Whatever her reason, Milla wasn't really surprised at all, and that confused Abigail something rotten.

"Um, it's really not that much of a shock, is it?" Abigail forced herself to ask. "We just want to know why. What was worth someone like Rathley and your husband trying to kill each other?"

Milla dropped her façade and sat back in her chair. "Of course, the pair of you are such good, naive girls. Wanting to play hero and get to the bottom of the mystery, and giving anyone in earshot plenty of reason to think that you intend to spring Rathley yourselves, if you like what you hear."

Abigail's mind ground to a halt. Certainly, that *was* what they had planned - and they would be getting Rathley free regardless - but why on earth would Milla let on that she knew their intentions so intimately. Did she intend to blackmail them? If she called for the guard then she and Sharn could end up back in that prison cell in the blink of an eye, or worse.

And more to the point, *was* anyone else listening in? If she was as transparent as that had she given the game away before they had even begun their operation? It was pure instinct that made her look back to the closed doorway they had come from.

Milla laughed. "Ha ha, have I worried you, dear?"

Yes, Abigail thought. Yes, you bloody well have! But to her relief Sharn hadn't been. That was a skill and a half, and her composure impressed Abigail enormously. Sharn was such an emotional woman, letting her happiness or anger pour from her, but now she had reigned all that in and returned Milla's amused gaze with a nonchalant look of her own.

"Yes, you do have us there. So, if you have the time, what story would you like to tell us?"

Milla paused, considering for a moment, and Abigail had to wonder whether she would spin out an elaborate lie to keep them from freeing Rathley. The only thing was, she hadn't shown even an inch of the anger that she was entitled to, even face to face with the man who had murdered her husband in broad daylight. True, she would still want him to pay for what he had done, surely, but she had seemed too honest a person for that. Or was she as manipulative as the town guard was in the end?

No, that wasn't fair. She would be justified in wanting Rathley behind bars for the rest of his life, or dead, whatever she had to do to ensure it happened. Suddenly, Abigail thought her chances of finding out what really happened had vanished the second they had asked to see Milla again.

But Milla surprised her, and turned away front he both of them, towards another door. "Benjamin, come in here. There's some folk who should meet you."

"Who are..."

The door opened to reveal a stocky young boy, about thirteen or fourteen years old, and except for his obligatory tan he wouldn't have looked out of place in her vault if Abigail had to tell the truth. He was unusually clean-faced for a surfacer, like Erin Goldway in Corva had been, but unlike her Benjamin obviously spent a reasonable amount of time out of doors. He was blonde, like his mother was where she hadn't greyed, but he had a strong, square face that would probably look quite imposing when he shed his puppy fat.

His bored complaint was cut short when he saw who it was sitting in the chairs opposite his mother. "Hey, you're the girls my Dad came in with! Does that mean I can finally see him?"

Abigail's jaw dropped, and in the chair beside her Sharn's composure couldn't mask her own astonishment. Sharn sputtered something that Abigail managed to repeat a little more coherently. "*Rathley* is your... father?"

Benjamin smiled, but only briefly before his mother cut the legs from beneath his enthusiasm.

"No, he is not. Benjamin doesn't seem able to accept that though, no matter how many times he's told the truth."

"It is the truth!" Benjamin said with a scowl. "That's why Da- Connor was always so angry at me, and at my *real* father."

Milla's voice cut in like cold steel. "That's enough. And don't you speak badly of the dead. You owe your *dead father* everything, Benjamin. That man in jail didn't even remember you *existed* before I reminded him, and he's not the *reason* you exist either."

Benjamin looked furious, but he didn't say anything. He just stood there staring at his well-kept boots, tears welling in his eyes.

"Maybe when you have a child of your own you might understand why your father was angry when you decided you'd rather have someone else replace him. Now go back to your room and study your reading. You're still not allowed out until tomorrow."

Abigail half expected Benjamin to start screaming at his mother, but instead he simply clenched his fists and left, already sniffling. No doubt the poor boy would have cried for all he was worth if he wasn't still in the presence of his stern mother and her guests. Abigail hadn't guessed that Milla could be so harsh, or so commanding.

Benjamin slammed the door behind him.

"And that," Milla said, "is why my husband wanted Rathley dead."

There was a stony silence while Abigail and Sharn tried to digest it. In Abigail's mind it was seemed tragic to have a family fracture like that, and for the recriminations to end up in the father's death.

Shan wasn't so certain.

"*Is* Rathley his father?"

Milla looked at her sharply, but instead of answering she sat down again and sagged a little in her chair. "No. No he isn't."

"So why does your son think he is?" Abigail had to ask.

Milla looked at them, running her tongue over her teeth behind her pursed lips. "Connor and I spent months ensuring that Benjamin wouldn't be sharing his 'discovery' with the rest of the town. But even so, rumour spreads quickly, and takes a long time to kill. It reinforced itself long enough for Benjamin to believe it these last five years, and Connor should have tried to forget it when the rest of Micasa did, but what was left of his pride couldn't let Rathley go unpunished. And Connor was a very proud man."

"But," Abigail asked as gently as she could, "Benjamin started those rumours? Why did he think Rathley was his father in the first place?"

"We can be discreet, Milla," Sharn added in a soothing voice. "We just want to know the truth about the man we're going to set loose again."

Milla stared at them both for a very long moment. "The truth is that he is every man your mothers ever warned you about. But we still know better than them, don't we?"

"You *did* have an affair with him?" Sharn asked.

Milla nodded, and looked quite unhappy that she was telling them this tale. "And I can be certain that Rathley is not Benjamin's father, because I was already pregnant with him at the time. Connor and Rathley were two rats in the same burrow. Ruthless bastards, but their arrogance was charming. Except Connor lost interest while I was fat with Benjamin, and for Rathley that prize was too tempting to pass up."

Sharn shook her head. "What an ass."

Milla didn't share her sentiment. "I was grateful at the time. It was nice to be desired again. When Rathley came back eight years later he couldn't resist spilling the beans, and lording it over Connor in secret. I kept Benjamin out of Rathley's way, but Connor lost it. Ran Rathley right out of town and would have killed him if Frank hadn't stepped in. It didn't help that it came on the heels of the whole price fixing scandal.

"That would have been the end of it, but Connor's pride was shattered. He got too drunk one night and took it out on Benjamin and me. He made it up to us afterwards, and we both put the matter to bed, but after accusing me of sleeping with Rathley to have Benjamin in the first place... Benjamin assumed it must have been true. And eight year olds like to explain everything that happens to them. A lot."

She sighed again. "After that, everyone assumed it must be true, and Connor couldn't take that. I killed the rumours off, but not before Connor put out the contract. Maybe he needed to be seen doing something about it, or maybe it was just revenge for what it did for his credibility, but I told him it was a bad idea. However, men like that don't listen. Either you let them be, or you leave."

"And you didn't leave," Sharn said simply.

Milla shook her head. "I loved him. And I *was* sorry I'd cheated on him, even if it was his own damn fault for ignoring me. And I miss him, even though he's as much to blame for being dead as Rathley is for killing him."

Abigail didn't know what to say. Everyone involved was at fault, and yet she couldn't point a finger at any of them because all their crimes seemed so... petty. But then, this was a world where wasteland raiders would kill you for the clothes on your back and a handful of bent bottle caps. At least losing his wife to Rathley, if only for a few weeks, was a laudable reason to want revenge. Even if it had been his own inattentiveness that had driven her away.

"... I'm sorry."

"What for? You wanted to hear it. Now you know," Milla said. "Now, can I get you girls a drink? I'm thirsty all of a sudden."

***

Rathley was very rarely sorry for anything he did. While he wasn't a gambler of Kyle's calibre he could play the odds well enough that, win or lose, the result would always be in his favour. It meant that he lost a lot, but when the game was weighted so far in his favour he wasn't going to complain about settling for the consolation prizes.

His current situation was a prime example. He was stuck in jail, had yet another slowly scarring bullet wound in his leg - god that was painful now the stimpak had worn off! - and while confident he had no guarantee that rescue was likely, even if it was possible.

But on the flip side he was very much alive when any more enraged or panicked man would have been killed, his wound *had* been treated, and that jumped up bastard Conner was dead, taking his contract with him. Similarly, Milla hadn't soured in the intervening years, so he was likely to continue living at least, and as long as he did he would be able to make the most of his situation. Jail was woefully bereft of alcohol and whores, but he still got fed, and any guard attempting to beat on him for kicks would only succeed at giving him the chance to escape. Though not before Rathley killed whichever fool tried it.

That wasn't to say that Rathley didn't have bad days though. They just weren't because of any mistake in his part. He had lost his little finger because Sharn and Chopper had set him up, out of some misguided sense of justice. As if they had treated Abigail any better. Rathley was hard on her, but they both came out of it wiser about each other, and Abigail that bit stronger after a lifetime of safety and soft coddling.

Connor's vindictive contract, again, hadn't exactly been down to Rathley's actions. Connor was happy enough patronising his old brothel instead of satisfying his wife, so what did he have to complain about when Rathley decided to satisfy her in his stead? And the stupid blowhard hadn't even noticed. It took him eight years to find out Rathley had stolen Milla from him for three whole months, and he never would have discovered it if Rathley hadn't told him to his face! And if Connor hadn't gone beating on her, then Rathley wouldn't have fanned the rumours that followed either. If Connor and Milla couldn't live with their choices, that was their problem. Putting the contract out? That had been sour grapes.

He did feel sorry for the kid though. Milla was a decent woman as far as rich women went, but to have an arrogant, manipulative fuck like Connor for a father? Rathley was a self-serving bastard, and he knew it, but he hoped the kid wouldn't end up with his father's attitude. Or else he'd probably end up dead too, sooner or later.

He was roused from his thoughts - there wasn't much else to do in jail but think, at least not with his bullet wound throbbing like this - when something light fell onto his vest-covered stomach. He looked down, and smiled as he rolled away from the bored, dozing guard and opened the folded piece of paper that had landed on him. That was why he liked it when a cell provided him with a top bunk. It was murder to climb up to with a busted leg, but it was always just below the window, ready for Kyle's post run.

***

Chopper tried to affect an air of nonchalance as she went about her business, at roughly the same time Abigail and Sharn had been going about theirs. However remarkably she might have entered town, Chopper was now just another visitor frittering away her caps on alcohol and wasteland sundries. It should be no surprise that even she, with a bit of reputation preceding her, should want to talk to the well known and much respected greeting duo of Frank and Kana. They were more famous that she was!

She wasn't doing a great job of making it look believable, but then she wasn't the one who should have been going to talk to them. She wasn't the one who should have to put herself on the front line of their upcoming gambit either. And she certainly didn't like the fact that if anyone was going to be caught, it would be her.

Yet she had no choice. This was the plan, and it made enough sense that even Abigail had been more than happy with it. Hell, the girl had been instrumental in its design. Chopper took another swig from the bottle of beer in her hand and put it down to the inevitable growth of Abigail's budding Scav mindset. The petite young woman was reckless and not too bright, but she was a rare thing in the Mid Waste: educated and adaptable. When Kyle offered her a chance to play to her strengths for once, she had leapt at it.

The pity was that it also played to Chopper's more hidden strengths as well.

Though not yet. Chopper liked Kana, and liked Frank even more, but when push came to shove neither of them were people she could call friends. True, outside her little party of Scavs she could count her friends on one hand, and even some of them wouldn't have considered her a friend until their consciences forced them to realise otherwise, but Chopper would have liked to have Frank and Kana for friends.

Hell, she would have tried to bed Kana at the first opportunity if she hadn't known better, but that was beside the point.

They were Kyle's friends, and thanks to a turn of events that she'd never actually got to the bottom of, they were Rathley's friends to a degree. But they weren't her friends, only acquaintances who happened to be decent people. She had to trust that their innate good will, and their fondness for Kyle, would be enough to obtain their aid.

Kana stood chatting with a small group who didn't appear to have any travelling paraphernalia, so were either reckless wanderers like the Scavs or groupies who had just come to talk. Several caravans were loading up and waiting for their drivers and guards to show up, but they wouldn't be leaving for a while, nor would anyone be arriving until at least mid morning apart from the odd hiking group. That was why Frank wasn't on duty yet, and why Chopper had chosen now to approach. She had hoped she could get away with her brief bit of recruiting without interruption, but she hadn't banked on anyone else coming to keep Kana company until Frank arrived.

There was little else for her to do except make a nuisance of herself though, so that was what she did. Several of the groupies, friends of Kana's it seemed, did pause when Chopper arrived, but rather than butt in Chopper simply sat herself down in the dust and took another swig from her bottle. Then after a moment, before the conversation above her began again, she pulled a second from her coat pocket and offered it up.

"Want one? I'm guessing the 'vans won't be turning up for a bit."

Kana gave her a cautious look - she must have known what Chopper was there for - but she took the drink. "Thanks."

Chopper listened in while the women beside her gossiped. As ever there was plenty of news in a town like Micasa, not least of which was the ownership of 'The Dusty Wagon' now that Connor was dead. Legally it was Milla's until she passed it on to her son, but there were plenty of other candidates who were interested in taking over, buying the place out, or just trying to crowbar their own favourite man in there. Chopper would have been curious to know how it turned out, had she expected to stay in town more than twenty four hours. When they asked, Chopper put her vote in for Milla. The greyed woman had got her out of prison after all. She was also happy to say that she didn't care what happened to Rathley one way or the other when the conversation turned that way.

After twenty minutes Kana's companions finally left, and Kana looked down to Chopper. "I'd say thanks for the drink, but it came with strings attached, didn't it?"

Chopper nodded, and motioned with her bottle to the caravan that was appearing in the distance. "Since you'll have visitors soon I'll try and make it quick. He's going to make an escape at the end of your watch. We need you to let him go."

"... Shit. I've repaid my favours, Chopper."

"Then he'll owe you one."

Kana grimaced. "And he'll either be dead, or he'll never be coming back. And he wouldn't pay up anyway."

That was true enough. Rathley repaid his debts in his own way, but for whatever reason he still didn't consider Kana's balance paid. This would level their playing field at best. "Then consider it an act of good faith. We need him out, and Milla doesn't care either way."

Kana was a child of Micasa so its laws, however flexible, were hers. If Milla was satisfied, then there was nothing else to say. Not that Kana was convinced Chopper was telling the truth, or could even know Milla's opinions on her husband's murderer, but Chopper knew that if nothing else, Kana trusted Kyle's judgement.

"What did Frank say?"

Chopper smiled. "I'll ask him as soon as I find him. But Kyle says he'll help. We need him to do more than look the other way."

Kana grimaced again on hearing that. "What do you want him to do? Do you have to get him involved?"

"Yes," Chopper nodded. "We also need someone in the police house to let us know where my girl's caps are, and how many trunks we'll have to go through to find them all. Unless you'd play cards with the few decent cops there are in town?"

Depressed, Kana shook her head. She had less contact with them than Frank did, and Chopper knew it. "It's not just about Rathley then."

"No."

Kana took a deep breath, and her face firmed. "Fine. If Frank agrees, I will too."

Chopper breathed an inner sigh of relief. It wasn't often that she was so glad for a person's good nature, but Kana's obvious guilt may have tipped the balance.

"Thanks."

But as Chopper stood to leave Kana stopped her. "Wait, Chopper. Is Kyle still angry?"

Chopper shook her head. He might still feel disappointed in them, which might be why he had delegated this job to her, but she could tell Kana the truth. "No, he's not. He never stays pissed for too long."

"Yeah, thanks. I guess he's still good like that."

***

At the same time Kyle had finished his morning post run, and had left Rathley and the prison well behind him. He'd not been seen, and he had to hope that Rathley had been covert enough to keep their communication away from the guards' prying eyes. Whether the guards could read it was another matter - he and Rathley could understand each others' scratches but they weren't nearly as literate as people like Chopper, and presumably Abigail. However, simply letting the guards find out that Rathley had been getting notes would probably be enough for them to foil Kyle's plan.

Rathley had to know what was coming though, and it was in his interests to make sure everything went as it should. Instead of dwelling on that, Kyle turned his mind to his main decoy in their plan: her real name was Elspeth Depree, but very few people knew her as anything other than 'River'.

Kyle's history with River was a long one, dating back to his first few years in Micasa as a teenager. Being a likable sort Kyle had made friends quickly with the local boys, but when one of their group had finally struck out and caught himself a girlfriend the remaining four of them had, after much frustration at his frequent absences, made a bet. They would get lucky, or lose their money.

Kyle had won the top slice of the pot, but not altogether fairly. He was too competitive to take the time needed to woo a girl properly, so he had walked into the 'Blue Velvet' whore house with a bag full of caps knowing exactly what he wanted, and of the six girls in the brothel he'd chosen River. And he'd enjoyed flaunting her in front of the other boys, because she had been a stunning woman.

It was a perverse twist of fate that left the other teenagers searching for new partners only a few weeks or months onwards, whereas Kyle had become a regular customer of River's, and she eventually started making exceptions for him; compromises with the owner of the brothel. The other girls there didn't captivate him the way River had, and after two years of patronage River admitted that she had tried very hard not to fall in love with him in return. And she had failed.

Their relationship had come with more than its share of difficulties though. Blue Velvet was not a place for prostitutes to work safely in exchange for a stipend. Its workers, men and women alike, were hand picked from the southern slave trade. For slaves they were treated well, Micasa would have nothing to do with the slave trade on the surface unless the slaves were being bought to 'free' them from the slavers, but in reality they *were* still property. River would live and work in that building until she was no longer an attractive option to the customers, and Kyle had rarely been able to see her other than as a customer, even with his benefits. It had forced them to make the most of their time together, but had frustrated them both no end. Especially when Kyle had to be 'fitted into her schedule'.

He had even tried to buy her outright once, but he had only been twenty at the time, and he'd had no idea of the kind of money he would have been asked to pay for her. That had begun the bitter-sweet end of their relationship, but by that point he had already joined Rathley's ailing group, and if there had ever been a time to move on, that had been it. He'd come back to see her every now and then, between other women, and she had welcomed him back to her room with open arms, but Kyle never pretended that he could return to how he had felt those years before.

And his biggest worry about their plan was that Sharn might find out. While they might have their fights, Sharn had come to take the place within him that had always remained a little empty since he had forced himself to realise how impotent he had been to free River. And Sharn was possessive of him. Past dalliances she could accept, but to hear that he had only left a woman because he could find no way of staying with her properly? That he wasn't so sure about. Kyle had managed to move on years ago, becoming wiser and more cynical as the world required, but would she believe that?

He pushed open the heavy door of Blue Velvet and pulled out a pouch with exactly the right amount in hard caps to buy two hours of River's time. It was just a shame he wouldn't get to use that time until that night, if only to apologise for what he would be asking.

***

Chopper stopped in the doorway, caught off guard just for an instant before she sighed. "Sorry to interrupt, Frank."

Frank lent up against the headboard of the tavern bed. The man next to him blushed and grinned, his eyes groggy, but Frank seemed unconcerned. "Chopper." He huffed. "You're not interrupting anything but a lie in, but what the hell do you want? I'm not on duty yet."

"A little assistance, and a recommendation. But we can talk when you've got your pants on."

Frank blinked some of the sleep away from his eyes. "Is it that important?"

Chopper shrugged, but tried to give the impression that it was. "Kana said she wanted your opinion too."

The greeting guard sighed and nodded. "Fine. Give me a minute and I'll meet you downstairs."

Chopper nodded, and let out a huff and she turned. "I hope you were using protection."

"Just wait *one minute*! And yes we were!"

***

Frank, it turned out, was more than happy to help them out now that he was being given the chance. There was a lot less bad blood between him and Rathley than anyone else Abigail had yet met, including Kyle or Milla. Or so it seemed, given the way Chopper related it.

"You're seriously saying that Frank's just going to let us into the police station, no questions asked?" Sharn said in astonishment. "I mean, I know you guys know each other, but..."

Abigail could see the conviction in Kyle's eyes though, and Sharn could see it too. Whatever their disagreements, Kyle trusted this man without a second thought.

"If Frank says there'll be nobody in the back of the police house, then that's what you'll find. Nobody."

"But it wasn't Frank saying that," Chopper reminded him. "It was his contact."

Abigail looked up from the old device in her lap. To her it seemed simple. "And that contact is being paid well enough, isn't he? He gets to keep his share of what they stole, and we pilfer the difference from the others. Besides, it'll be easier that way: there won't be as many lockers to go through."

Kyle agreed. "And Frank and Kana both vouched for him. He'll make sure we can get in okay, as long as we stick to the plan."

"We need to tell Rathley about Kana's offer as well then," Sharn noted, and Kyle nodded. He'd evidently thought of that already.

"I'll give him the key and let him know what's going on when I let him out. We'll have time, and he knows how to get there."

Sharn looked anxious, but accepted it. "Fine."

With that matter over Kyle looked to Abigail as she tinkered. "What about you, Abby? Will you be ready?"

Abigail nodded. For the first time in goodness knew how long, she actually felt confident about what she was doing. It felt good to have a piece of technology, no matter how primitive, yielding to the skills Marcus had taught her. "Yep. I'll be ready as soon as I've got this thing to talk to my PipBoy."

"How long?"

Abigail shrugged to try and cover for the butterflies of nervous anticipation in her stomach. "Well, uh, comm systems aren't my speciality, but it's not like it's broken. An old transmitter like this *should* be able to send out something on the PipBoy's frequency. Its short wave modulation just needs tightening up."

Kyle cocked his head a little, and Abigail remembered that she might as well have been speaking Chinese to him. "Ten minutes?"

"Plenty." He got to his feet, looking confident as he regarded Chopper and his girlfriend. "Shall we find some dinner?"

***

River arrived bang on time, as the light was finally starting to fade. She had dropped the magnificent swaying saunter of her workplace for a more understated walk, but Kyle knew that wouldn't have stopped her turning a few heads. She was as uncommonly attractive as all Velvet Blue's 'exclusive' prostitutes, so he had asked that she try to remain innocuous rather than attempt at going unseen.

And it depressed him that, as wonderful as she still looked, the first thought to cross his mind was how she looked older. There were a few more lines by her eyes, a little less firmness in her cheeks and in the cleavage that showed above her low chemise. She had cut her auburn curls short again since they had last met, so they tapered hard into her neck, but even the edge of severity that gave her seemed somehow attractive, in a matronly may.

"Kyle," she said in her soft, West Waste accent, "I'm glad you asked me to come, but would it have hurt to ask in person? I have missed you, you know."

Kyle gave her an apologetic look, but didn't bother to reply. He would only have got half way before River had lifted her hands to his cheeks and kissed him gently. As brief as it was it seemed to satisfy her, and she gave him a soft smile before wiping at his lips. Presumably she'd left her lipstick there.

"Is it another girl?" she asked. "Or the Rathley problems?"

"Both," Kyle replied. "You don't mind helping us out for his sake?"

River gave him a look, as if to ask how dumb he was. "It's not his sake I'm here for."

"Thanks. Is Red treating you okay?"

River nodded, amused by his unusually awkward small talk. "He always does. But I don't want to talk about him. I have to see him every day. I want to talk about you, and your new girl."

Kyle could never tell whether she was just nosey and wanted news from outside Micasa or whether she was genuinely interested in the women who had come after her. It seemed rather self-defeating to him, but he always indulged her, regardless.

"She's not so new now. We picked her up about three years back - met her just after my last visit - and she's been around ever since. She's... she still a bit naive, but she's a good woman and a damned good shot. Helps keep the reprobates in line."

"Since when were you ever a reprobate?"

Kyle took one look at her smirk before he was forced to return it. "Rathley and Chopper." He sighed. "We weren't planning on keeping her around - she was a bit of a tribal still - but I think I'm in for the long haul this time."

River looked at him a moment, and tilted her head. "That's good?"

"Yeah. Very good."

River looked a bit conflicted at that, but she smiled none the less. "Good for you then. Is there any chance I could meet her?"

Kyle hesitated. That could be bad. "I don't think that's a good idea, River. I'd be up for it, but she's on the territorial side. And she wouldn't want to meet you during hours anyway, she's not big on experimentation."

"I see. That must keep Chopper amused, from what I hear of her."

"Heh, you'd better believe it. Especially before Chopper got *her* latest girlfriend."

They reminisced for five short minutes before the night's tasks re-asserted themselves.

"So, since I can't entertain you tonight," River said, half-joking in her disappointment, "who is it you *are* paying me to keep occupied."

"Rathley's guards."

River blinked at him. "... You're kidding. That's your rescue plan?"

"Not all of it. As long as the two of them are separated for a bit it'll be fine though."

River sighed. "Kyle, you know I trust you, but could you at least let me in on how this is going to help?"

Kyle grinned, "In his post-coital state one of the guards gets a bit too close to Rathley's cell. Rathley knocks him out through the bars, drags him over, and steals the keys while the other guard is too busy with you to help do anything."

River seemed even less impressed. "Seriously?"

"Of course not," Kyle said, "but that's how the police will think it happened. Just wear the first one out, and make sure the second isn't looking at the door when I come in to knock his lights out."

River cottoned onto the plan. "Right. I see. And you can knock him out in one hit? When was the last time you punched someone?"

"Well, if either of them takes a few hits no-one would be surprised if Rathley went a bit overboard. As long as they never see what hit them they'll have to take your word for it that it was Rathley."

"And how do you expect the man I've already dealt with not to see you coming?"

"That's up to Rathley."

***

Meanwhile, across the street from the prison Abigail and Chopper had been spending some proper time together, in as much as they had been strolling around waiting for an opportune moment to disappear behind the main police house.

Had it not been for Abigail Chopper might never have managed to slip away unnoticed. She seemed to have an innately bad sense of timing, and Abigail had to haul her back in the end, making it look as casual as possible.

"Seriously," Abigail grumped in a whisper once they were safely out of sight. "How can you be the main sneak of this operation and not be any good at sneaking?"

Chopper seemed unimpressed. "And what part of your vault curriculum taught *you* when to slip away into the shadows without arousing the suspicion of the local hedonists? And," she added, "you do seem to be very eager about this mission. You do realise that this is the most obviously illegal thing you've done since crawling out of your vault, right?"

Abigail did know it, but why the hell should she care? It was the 'law' in this town that was the most corrupt part of it, at least as far as she had seen, and she had personally been a victim of that corruption.

And of course there was the Buffout she had swallowed in secret before they had set out. That was making the whole 'breaking into a building full of armed police officers' thing a whole lot less intimidating.

She'd tried not to do it. She really had. But she was only human, and no sane human would be doing what she was doing now. She needed to be just as mad as Chopper and Kyle were, and so there she was, nervous as hell but itching to get started!

But before she could voice her retort Chopper added an afterthought to her accusations.

"Not that I'm complaining. I'll need all the help I can get for this."

Abigail blinked in surprise. That sounded awfully accepting of Chopper.

"Hey, it's the law who are the bad guys this time. And it's not like I have to kill them either. I'm just trying to think of it like a spy movie," Abigail said. "And I *did* have to sneak around in the vault, I'll have you know. How else do you think I found out for certain there were no other gay women there? I broke into the main databank and saw the census data."

Chopper seemed impressed. "Ballsy. Well, according to Frank's insider friend, we should be able to get in through here without being noticed."

She pointed to a simple wooden door sitting recessed into an alcove in the equally wooden wall. A huge, double bolt padlock hung from the latch.

"This would so much easier if we could just break down the door," Abigail said. "Or the prison walls. They're only wood after all." For some reason, in her powered up state of mind, that actually didn't seem like such a bad idea. Well, aside from...

"You mean aside from the dozen shotgun wielding police officers that would follow," Chopper replied as she sat down in front of the door and pulled a cloth roll of syringes out of her coat pocket.

"Yeah. Besides that."

Abigail watched genuinely impressed as, from the final padded holder in the rolled cloth belt, Chopper pulled not a hypodermic but a trio of metal prongs that looked like they belonged in a dental surgery.

Or a locksmith's shop.

"I can't believe you never said you could pick locks," Abigail said as Chopper slipped two of the instruments into the padlock and began to work. "I'd have thought that's a pretty major marketable talent up here."

It would have been useless in Vault 42 - all the locks had been electronic apart from the equipment lockers, and they were all behind electronically locked doors - but up on the surface these chunky, primitive contraptions seemed to be the norm.

"Necessity rather than desire," Chopper answered, without looking away from the lock. "But being able to sew up a ruptured artery made learning this sort of thing a bit easier. At least for me. Steady hands."

Then after one held breath and a final twist the lock bolts were released with a dull clunk. Chopper lifted the padlock of the latch and popped it in her coat pocket, so that they could lock it again on the way out. "After you, little mouse."

Abigail didn't know whether to frown or giggle at the remark, and with the real start of their operation so close at hand she decided to do neither. Instead she eased the door open with a minimal squeak from its hinges and slipped inside, followed by Chopper, who closed it behind them.

There were no windows in that back corridor, but it was lit by a bare electric light bulb that hung by a wire from the ceiling. That just underlined their reason for sneaking into the police house before Rathley's escape, and with twilight falling. This building was one of the few besides the more advanced casinos that had electric power, and what's more it was designed to be able to withstand assault from unruly merchants and casino owners, dating back to the town's merchant wars. It meant that, aside from blowing the whole place to smithereens, you had to force your way inside past those outer corridors to actually get at the cops inside on the ground floor. Only the Brotherhood of Steel, or a group of Super Mutants, would have been well armed enough to do that. And they would have been sniped at from the living quarters on the second floor.

However, it did mean that the cops were reliant on the micro-fusion generator behind the door that Chopper now set to work on. It provided light inside the sealed off innards of the police house, as well as power for the two computers that stored most of their report and records. The generator sat in the rear left corner of the building, but if anything it was better protected from the outside than the rest of the building, hiding behind sheets of scrap steel plate.

With another much softer click Chopper unlocked the door, and the pair snuck into the starkly lit 7'x7' room. The generator was small, only three feet cubed, but then it didn't need to be big. They could have used the normal, expendable micro-fusion cells for what they wanted and still only charged them every year or so. But the genny was at least more reliable.

Until Abigail got at it.

"Tools please," Abigail asked, holding out her hand, and trying not to let the bright light from the bulb in the ceiling slip behind her shades as she looked up at Chopper.

Chopper just looked down at her. "What's the rush? We can't do anything until we get Sharn's signal."

Abigail gave her a deadpan stare. "This is a self-contained unit. It's going to take a few minutes just to get the shell off, bypass the safety switches and detach the coolant panels, and that's before I do anything to its insides."

"And you can make this look like a technical problem?" Chopper asked, sounding genuinely unsure.

"Sure. It'll look just like a capacitor short tripped the emergency shutdown switch once they crack it open again."

"And that's bad?"

"Well," Abigail said as she began to unscrew the casing bolts, "if a cyclic capacitor broke down and *didn't* trip the emergency shutdown its associated micro-fusion cell would start pumping excess current into the charge circuits. That would overcharge the companion cell, and blow the whole thing sky high, along with half this building."

"Okay. I'll shut up and let you work."

Abigail tried to stifle her giggle. It was fun being useful. "Nah, this is easy. Except I shouldn't say that, or Lady Luck will decide to kick me in the ass again, and you have *no idea* how much she hates me."

***

Sharn lay on the roof of the 'Happy Go Lucky' caravan company, looking down the sights of the rifle she had bought from Kirren before they had left Corva. It had no telescopic sight, but there was a psychological benefit looking down the clean line of the gun. It helped her focus when she was on lookout duty. The chunky, handheld radio transmitter that Abigail had spent the afternoon tinkering with sat beside her.

She had to admit, at least to herself, that she didn't like this plan much. It was too easy to get caught, even though the light was fading. It had been bad enough for Abigail and Chopper sneaking around behind the police house and getting in unseen. Frank's contact had said they could do it, but it was still a very brazen approach.

Worse was Kyle's task. The prison only had one entrance on the main street, and the reason Abigail and Chopper had been able to succeed was because they had been *away* from that street. Kyle had to slip into the building without drawing attention, and then he and Rathley had to get out in the midst of the confusion that the prostitute would create soon afterwards. In Sharn's mind it was all a bit risky.

But then, she didn't know these people. Kyle and Frank did. If they said the police could be sent on a wild goose chase so easily, then she had to trust that they were right. As long as Kyle wasn't noticed loitering around before it kicked off they would be fine.

And he wasn't. After a long moment with the prostitute in one of the houses a few doors down - far, far too long a moment in Sharn's opinion - he had escorted her up to the prison as publicly a possible. He'd even slapped her on the behind when he had left her to do her stuff - she would have to talk to him about that - and the few people still wandering around at that hour had paid an amused note to it. They also paid note as Kyle left the way he had come. Sharn knew that he was going to circle around behind the main street, but no-one seemed to pick up on it. They evidently had their own business to get on with, and the hours for sociable street talk faded faster than the light. That's what the bars and casinos were for.

By now Kyle would be behind the building, reading his battered old Scout Handbook and waiting for the prostitute's signal. The plot seemed transparent to her, but she knew that the male libido was a more powerful force than she often gave credit to. When a woman as attractive as that whore said that she still wanted more the guard would be more than happy to send his friend in while he recovered. Especially if it was just to 'keep her primed' until his own second round. Would he expect the impulsive whore to drop the first thing that came to hand out of the back window as soon as his back was turned? Probably not, but that would be the signal for Kyle to come in as soon as he heard her getting going again.

And soon enough Kyle wandered around the building. He gave a cursory look, but no-one was around to pay attention to him, so he walked inside. Sharn counted to five. That would be one swift punch to drop the second lustful cop. Another ten seconds, and either Kyle could surprise the first or drop him after a quick scuffle. Rathley would be keeping the guard occupied with perverse questions, and with Kyle's reflexes he could probably catch him unawares. Now, if everything went to plan it was the prostitute's turn.

And bang on cue there was a scream from inside. A second later she emerged, clutching her clothes to herself and screaming for help.

"Someone, help!! The killer's escaped!"

Except that Rathley and Kyle were still inside, waiting for the police to appear. Soon enough the cops did start streaming out of the house Abigail and Chopper hid in, and the prostitute pointed up the alley on the opposite side of the prison to the one Kyle had used. Several cops careered off that way, while two more tried to calm the woman, who to her credit did look genuinely distraught.

Then, bold as brass, Kyle and Rathley rushed out of the prison. They must have been checking to see that the coast was clear, but from Sharn's angle it looked astonishingly stupid. But the cops' attention wasn't focused that way. They had a whore to calm down, in the hopes of getting something else intelligible from her. Rathley ran off, wearing Abigail's travelling cloak which the prostitute had smuggled in for him, while Kyle actually approached the cops and the prostitute. They even seemed pleased to see him! He was giving the cops enough of a distraction that Rathley could escape behind the main street, then into the side room of the house which Kyle and the whore had met in. That was Kana's room, to which she had given Chopper the key so that they could hide Rathley without fear of him being found outside the town limits.

But that was enough observation. A second quartet of police ran from the station, this time wearing metal breastplate shells like Rathley's. That was the formation Frank's informant had told them about, and now the police house would be mostly empty.

That was Sharn's cue. She picked up the re-wired radio and twisted the knob on its top until it clicked and gave a low electronic hum from its speaker.

"Now. The magpie's nest is empty."

Whatever that meant. Abigail was certainly taught some strange things in that vault of hers.

***

"Now. The magpie's nest is empty."

Chopper was glad to hear Sharn's quiet signal come from Abigail's PipBoy speaker. She and Abigail had been waiting in the generator room for what seemed like an age, and as the minutes had ticked away Abigail had become steadily more agitated. Chopper had been surprised by the girl's earlier enthusiasm, but it had been a welcome surprise. At least that way one of them had been eager. Having Abigail's good mood give way to nerves and hesitation was the last thing either of them needed.

But it seemed that the signal had come in time, and Abigail reached inside the generator again, touching a freed wire to one of the more delicate looking components. There was a sudden spark that made Abigail recoil, and then the bare light bulb above them winked out.

"Phew, perfect!" Abigail exclaimed, louder than she probably should have dared. "Let's rock!"

There was, however, a flaw in their plan. One that Chopper had pointed out repeatedly throughout the day. "I would 'rock', if I could see what I was doing."

In reply Abigail was suddenly illuminated by a dim glow, having activated a passive, greenish light that emanated from her PipBoy's screen. It only lit up a few feet in any direction, and poorly at that, but Abigail seemed entirely unconcerned. She simply removed her sunglasses and folded them so that they hung from her jumpsuit's collar.

"Here." She scampered over to the door that led into the police house proper, and crouched down by the keyhole, illuminating it. "Let's get cracking, Ms. Locksmith."

Chopper didn't much like that chirpy condescension, but kept her mouth shut. It was about time Abigail was happy about something they were doing, so she simply pulled her tools from her coat again and started work. "Just remember there will still be two or three cops inside."

"And they *should* be rushing down to see what just went wrong," Abigail replied, grinning. "They won't know what hit them."

That was the plan, at least. But Abigail wouldn't supposed to be doing the hitting. She would be putting the generator back together so that they could make as quick an escape as possible. It was Chopper who had to get in there and make sure they weren't even identified, much less caught. The police had to think that it was Rathley laying them out after throwing off his pursuers. Tricky, considering she had to do it in almost pitch darkness.

But the time for hesitation had long passed, and as soon as the lock clicked the two of them sprang into action. Without the generator running the interior was as pitch black as they had been told it would be. A weak trickle of fading sunlight crept down the stairs from the second floor, but as Abigail and then Chopper ran into the room their only real light was the weak glow from Abigail's PipBoy. Almost immediately Chopper ran into an overturned chair that the police had left where it fell after making their hasty exit, and she bit down on her lip to avoid crying out in surprise. In contrast her light source leapt over the desk she headed for with effortless silence. Chopper couldn't help but feel jealous of that youthful agility, but panic was her more immediate impulse. She knew someone was already down in the darkness with them, flailing around after having found the light switch useless. After her trip there was no doubt that the remaining police upstairs would be making their way down as well.

Clearly Abigail had noticed the man with them as well, and had already turned off her light in order not to give them both away. But she was hesitating. She was only supposed to be getting Chopper inside and to the lockers, but she couldn't have failed to notice that Chopper was next to useless in the dark.

Chopper reached blindly out to Abigail, and her hand was caught. She crawled closer before feeling for Abigail's mouth and holding her hand over it. Abigail did not struggle the way Chopper had expected, but that was all for the better. It meant she could focus on listening.

The cop was trying to be cautious, but he was just as helpless as Chopper, able to see nothing but the outline of the stairs. He walked into something, and swore. "Fuck! Okay, I know you're in here, whoever the fuck you are. Give it up now and I promise I won't blow your fuckin' head off."

Chopper didn't doubt it, and wondered what on earth she was going to do now. She had to get upstairs, and at least ambush the guy she could hear running around up there when he came down, while she had the darkness and the element of surprise on her side.

Then Abigail pulled Chopper's hand away from her mouth, and the girl leaned in close to her. "He's lying," Abigail whispered. "He's dropped his gun!"

Chopper didn't know how Abigail could know that, and she didn't care. Whatever she'd done to her eyes to make her so day-blind, Chopper was thankful for it now. "Take him."

Abigail left in an instant, and Chopper herself crawled over towards the light coming down the stairs. She heard a soft tap, then a pair of boots landing on wood. What was Abigail doing vaulting around on the desks? Then came a dreadful 'whack', followed by another wooden thunk and Chopper could have sworn she heard two bodies collapsing to the floor.

What the hell had she done? Could Abigail really see at all in this darkness? There was no way the slight girl could hit a man as heavily as the sound she had heard, but the cop hadn't said anything at all. And neither had Abigail. Whatever it was she'd done, she had bought Chopper the time she needed. If Chopper ended up having to find her in the darkness and haul her out unconscious, she could still live with that.

"Charlie!" came the voice from upstairs. "Charlie, what's going on down there?"

This second policeman made his way slowly down the stairs, peering onto the blackness with a shotgun raised. "Charlie! I'm not fucking about! You got the genny keys?"

Chopper might not have been light on her feet, but she was a large woman with respectable reflexes. In one swift motion both her hands shot up out of the darkness. One grabbed the cop's right arm, wrenching it away from the shotgun trigger, while the other hooked around his right leg and pulled in exactly the same direction. She had expected the weapon to go off, but the man's grip must have been light and instead it just fell away in her left hand as Chopper, using every ounce of strength she had, hauled the man clean off the stairs.

He fell to the floor flat on his face. Chopper didn't want to know how broken his nose was now or how may teeth he had just lost. Pain she approved of - it was the most effective teaching tool the human body had at its disposal - but physical injury was another matter. Though he had deserved his lesson Rathley wasn't going to grow another finger after that stupid rat fight, and she doubted this man would be able to have his teeth re-set, even if a broken nose would heal.

But the fall hadn't put him out. He groaned at Chopper's feet, but as much as he might or might not have deserved it, she needed him unconscious so that she could work. She yanked the shotgun from his shaky, one-handed grip.

"No, wait!" he protested, but Chopper just bent down, found his head with her left hand, and drove the butt of the weapon into his temple with her right. He never saw a thing.

That did it, and it had been a lot quieter than she had expected. No gunshots, and no sounds of more cops rushing down from upstairs. Hopefully that would be it.

A hand grabbed at her arm, and Chopper panicked. She spun around, still holding the shotgun by the barrel, only to meet Abigail's broadly smiling face, lit green by her PipBoy once again. "Whoa, Chopper, it's just me! It's just me."

The relief that followed was overwhelming, and Chopper dropped the shotgun to the floor. "Thank god for your fucking eyes! I thought you and him got each other!"

She kissed her girlfriend fiercely in thanks that Abigail wasn't lying in a heap on the floor, until she caught that wretched taste in Abigail's mouth. She recoiled in disgust, and frowned down at her, but Abigail's worried look softened her instinctive revulsion. The girl obviously knew what she'd done, and she looked as though she expected to get flayed for it.

Really, right now it really wasn't that big a deal.

"Eagh," Chopper said, trying to suck the taste off her tongue. "You and your bloody peppermint paste have to spoil the moment."

Thankfully Abigail seemed to see the funny side, and the smile returned to her face. "Uh, sorry. Come on, let's finish and get out of here before any of these guys decide to ignore our 'insider's' advice and come back." She looked to the stairs. "Do you think there's anyone else up there?"

Chopper shook her head and gave her another, quick kiss before starting upstairs. "Wouldn't they have been here by now? Go fix that machine. I'll be done soon."

After that it didn't take long. Not only had their informant told them were the lockers were, he'd told them which specific ones to break into to get not only their money back in caps and equipment but enough interest to make up for their inconvenience and to pay Kyle's old whore for her time and assistance. And that way they'd be leaving the more scrupulous cops alone, along with the informant of course.

Despite Chopper's lingering worries there were no interruptions, and three minutes later Abigail and Chopper left with the generator reconstructed and the back doors locked, and a great deal of loot in their bags. But that was hardly a cause for guilt or concern. It had been theirs to begin with. Mostly.

***

The old and battered double bed still looked out of place in the clean, metallic vault room. The dim 40 watt light bulb bathed Chopper's sleeping form, as it did the three tomboys who sat cross legged on Abigail's side of the bed. All three wore their jumpsuits with the patriotic '42' embroidered onto the left breast, but only two were vault dwellers any more. Though Gillian's hair was a mass of messy dreadlocks and Alice had never ironed her jumpsuit in her life, they were still clean and well turned out. They belonged.

Abigail did not. Her long braid of hair needed the dust washed out of it badly, and her skin was turning dark, and still angry by comparison. There was a slight squint in her eyes now after weeks of life with blindness only just beyond the edges of her shades, and she never had managed to wash the blood out of her jumpsuit's torn leg. She also feared that the stains of sweat were becoming more permanent as the days went on.

But strangely, she really didn't mind. The stark cleanliness of her room and her friends had begun to seem alien. Nineteen years of her life was beginning to seem like a foreign dream.

So then, why did she keep returning to it? Surely she didn't need to justify herself any more. She had gone beyond that. Her friends and her family had never believed it possible to survive on the surface. They were no longer there to judge her. She had only ever been judging herself.

"So why did you come back then?" Gillian asked. The poor girl looked petulant and unhappy, and Abigail wished she knew why. "You know what you want me to think about her."

She looked over to Chopper, sound asleep.

Yes, it satisfied Abigail to think that Gillian would be jealous. She never would have been in reality, nothing had ever happened between them, but Dream Gillian was another matter. As was Dream Beatrice, and even Dream Sharn.

"I don't want you to be jealous," Abigail lied. And then came the conflicting truth, "I don't want to be hurting you."

"Why not?" was Gillian's confused reply. "She gets off on hurting you."

Abigail would have denied it, but Gillian had Alice to support her. Alice was the smart one, the tomboy who could play at being as girly as she wished, and could read a person as if they were an open book.

"I know you don't want to hear it," Alice said, "but we wouldn't be here if you didn't know it yourself, Abigail. However considerate or contrary she may seem, Ms. Butcher *is* a sadist. It pleases her to inflict pain. Maybe not to you now that you are together, but you have seen it. But more to the point, it pleases her to manipulate you. That worries me, Abby."

Abigail dropped her gaze from the both of them. What did they know? They lived nice, simple dream lives in their safe, un-invaded dream vault. The surface had turned Abigail into a stealthy thief and a stylish killer. What kind of horrid people would *they* have become on the surface? The hypocrites.

But they were still right. Abigail knew that Chopper had... issues. How could she have failed to notice?

"I know she's insensitive when she's treating people, or she's trying to make a point. She enjoys it too much. But I like it when she can make me forget why I'm pissed off at her, or when the surface doesn't make any sense. Yeah, maybe she can seduce me out of thinking anything, but I *like* it when she does."

Gillian frowned at her. "You deserve better than that!"

"But I *need* her. Of course I hate the way she treats people sometimes! And I hated her for beating me down about the Buffout! And I hate her for being so unreasonable when I need her to be supporting me!

"But having her here on my terms is better than not having anyone at all. I needed *someone* after the super mutant, just to tell me I hadn't become a monster myself. And she did more than that! She made me feel loved! Important! I can't walk away from that. Not when she's so eager to make me feel that way again."

Alice nodded, but she had a sober observation to make. "And those pills that make you feel so strong, as often as you want, when the surface makes you feel so afraid?"

Abigail could only return Alice's sympathetic look with plain honesty. "I won't give them up either, whatever she says. I know they're no good for me, but I won't give them up until I can fight on my own. I have to pull my weight. I have to be able to protect them. Right now, I can barely protect myself."

"Then you know what you are doing," Alice said, giving Abigail a small, accepting smile. "Just make sure you don't regret it."

"I won't," Abigail replied with conviction. "I did well this time. I'm getting stronger. I took down a cop bare handed, and no-one will notice I was even there. It was a success."

She smiled at the thought. "Maybe I can succeed at changing Chopper too. She *can* be a considerate person. Maybe I can teach her that *that* is the more rewarding choice."

Gillian looked from Abigail to Chopper and back. She still didn't look satisfied, but she had been mollified for now. "You know, for someone so self-conscious, you always were the ambitious one."

***

Abigail, Sharn and Chopper waited at the town entrance the next morning, taking the place of Kana's groupies in occupying her dull morning hours. And it was getting late enough that Frank had joined them at his post.

"You sent him on his way this morning?" Frank asked his long time partner, and Kana nodded.

If anything Kana looked less happy after the fact than she had when Chopper had first asked for her help, but it was done now. "I let him out before dawn. The asshole had the gall to thank me."

"*You* thanked *him* after the swarm, didn't you?" Chopper asked. "He'd *better* have been grateful after all this."

"Yeah, well..."

Kana faltered, and Abigail noticed her holding her left arm. Now that she thought of it, it was strange that the woman's shirt had sleeves. That was a rarity. Kana was obviously putting up a front, and not doing it too well. "He owes *me* now. He'd better remember that."

Abigail smiled at her. "Don't worry. We won't let him forget it."

Frank was far more matter of fact about it. "Just don't bring him back to pay up for a while. He's not done himself any favours with the police after all this."

"Don't worry," Chopper said. "We've got plenty of other places to screw up next."

While Kana might have seemed quietly conflicted, Sharn was simply quiet. It worried Abigail because Sharn would usually have been the first one to reassure Kana that even if they were doing the wrong things, it was for a good reason. It helped the town to have Rathley gone, and it helped their group to have him and his skills on board. Abigail wasn't 100 percent satisfied about setting him free either. It had all come part and parcel of the same plan, and on this backwards surface world breaking him out actually seemed to be a logical thing to do, and to hell with the local law.

But on top of those feelings was the man who walked up towards them far later than they had planned. It was as plain as the shades on Abigail's nose that Sharn adored Kyle, but she'd already seen them go through one fight when they had first found her coming out of the Cobalt Line, and it seemed as though another might be brewing.

Kyle was brushing off the cop's thanks for his assistance the night before. It seemed absurd, but this town trusted Kyle to the extent that, after he had helped set the police house right, they were happy to believe that he was genuinely on their side. The fact that he and his prostitute decoy had been stalling them while Abigail and Chopper did their part never entered into it.

He'd had Frank's insider to help, but for all his apparent honesty and forthrightness Kyle had played them all for fools. Perhaps that was his way of taking revenge for his disillusionment.

"Where have you been?" Sharn accused, though without much of the venom that Abigail remembered hearing from her before.

Kyle looked as innocent as a puppy dog. "I had a few friends to say goodbye to."

The fact that he hadn't been too careful disguising which direction he had set off in didn't help him though. Abigail guessed he had been to at least talk to his prostitute friend again, and Sharn must have reached the same conclusion. While Kyle had been out with the police that night Sharn had been quite vocal about what she had seen of them both.

However, to Sharn's credit she did leave it at that for the moment. She simply took Kyle's hand, looking strangely like a possessive schoolgirl as she did.

Frank shook his other hand warmly. "While I don't know about your friend, *you'd* better come back in decent time," Frank said with a grin. "I've still got to give you a whipping over a deck of cards."

"Oh, I'll bet I've learned more tricks out there than you have cooped up here," Kyle taunted back. "Next time we sit down your wallet's mine."

Frank just laughed. "You said that last time too. Then you ran away for three years!"

Kyle didn't answer that, but seemed amused at the thought.

While he probably would have hugged Kana when it came time to say goodbye, Sharn still had his left hand, so he settled for another shake. "Thanks, Kana. I'll see you."

Kana wasn't going to settle for so little though, and instead grabbed him as best she could from his other side. "Take care, Montanya. And come back in one piece."

Sharn might not have liked it, but it was too brief for her to object to before Kana let him go.

Leaving, Abigail was glad to have the town behind her. If they did go back at some point she might have to leave them to it and spend her time elsewhere. Between being stolen from and made to feel like a circus curiosity under all the stares, the place had entirely failed to enamour itself to her. "I don't know, but if what Frank and Milla and everyone said is true, I think that town actually might have deserved Rathley. I hate to say it, but he seems a lot more normal next to them."

Sharn huffed in what might have been either annoyance or amusement. Maybe a bit of both. "This is probably the first mess I've helped get him out of where he *wasn't* the only one to blame."

"No, it's not the first," Kyle said. "But it would always be a hell of a lot easier, and maybe less bloody, if he'd learn to let shit like this go."

Sharn looked at him sceptically. "Oh, you mean like the time you ended up in prison for starting a riot over a game of poker?"

"That punk accused me of cheating."

"You *were* cheating!"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "We were *all* cheating. He was stupid enough to call me on it because I'd out-cheated him."

"And you couldn't let it drop."

Then, a few minutes away from the town, Sharn fell quiet again, and she gripped Kyle's hand tighter. Evidently there were times, very rare times, when she couldn't let it drop either.

"Kyle? Who the hell was that whore?"

***

From the upper floor reception room of her bar, Milla stared out at the desert skyline. Perhaps it was just as well that she could not see the town entrance from there, because she knew what must have been happening.

And if his sudden, beaming appearance meant anything, Benjamin must have known as well.

"Mom! He escaped! It's all over town! He broke out of prison and fought through the whole police house!"

Milla turned away from the window and, not looking at her son, sat back down in her favourite upholstered chair.

"Mom? Aren't you glad?"

In all honesty, she really didn't know.

"No, Benjamin," she lied with practiced ease. "No, I'm not. A killer just escaped. Why would I be glad of that?"

Benjamin frowned at her, but at the same time his energy faded and he lost his steam. "You're lying. That's not what you used to say."

True enough, Milla thought with wry self-deprecation. There had been a time when she had genuinely loved that provocative bastard. But then, there had also been a time when she had genuinely loved her late husband as well.

"You know he's not your father, Benjamin. He's not the kind of man you should want to be."

Connor looked at her unhappily. "Why would I want to be like my 'real' dad either?"

Milla had several answers ready in an instant. His moneymaking skills, his ease at making contacts, his ability to sway staff, family and the law alike.

She decided not to use any of them. "... Because he was a bastard too, but at least he was the bastard that loved you."

***

To be continued...

***

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2009


	12. Gilded Cages

After the Vault: Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

***

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 12

Gilded Cages

Rathley took a long sip from the old metal stein in his hands, savouring the taste of the heavy, bitter-sweet beer. By most comparisons it was a brutal brew, but after a week either in a cell or on the road *any* real beer was as good as God's own nectar as far as he was concerned.

Not only had the Micasan police stolen Abigail's loot, they had 'appropriated' his own travelling stash of alcohol, and neither Chopper nor Sharn had been willing to share their own meagre supplies. Hell, they hadn't even bothered to stock up on anything but food before leaving, and since Kana was provided for by the town she hadn't had anything to offer but water before he left.

And Kyle didn't drink while travelling. Strange boy.

Then again, Rathley thought, having a good time didn't seem to have been on his protege's list of priorities for the last few days. Kyle might have become a skilled Scav, but he still hadn't learned too much about women as far as Rathley was concerned.

Chopper could do with a few pointers on that front as well. After all, the whole unsavoury subject could have been broached at a more opportune time, if Abigail had to be told at all. Rathley was a big believer in secrecy, because, while what you didn't know *could* very easily hurt you, keeping the secrets yourself would keep you happy and out of harms way as long as you kept your fool mouth shut.

Still, it was better this way around, for him at least. It got the fireworks out of the way early, so he could enjoy his rest stop.

He took another pull on his beer, and smiled across the barroom table at his drinking partner. "Quiet night for a change."

Chopper, wrapped in her coat and with her hat pulled down, gave him a sour sidewise glance. As usual she had declined the good stuff and was sticking with the limp, bottled beers. Not that they were ever the bottle's original contents, but those beers tended to be more palatable for the masses, and Chopper had got through three already.

"No shit. And good, I need the fucking rest."

Rathley cocked his head. "As if you were the ones screamin' at each other."

Chopper shook her head and drained the bottle. "I don't like it when she's quiet. I can't tell who she's pissed at."

"Aww, you almost sound concerned, Marie. That's so sweet."

Chopper lashed out a hand and Rathley had to be quick to grab his pint before she could take it from him. He stared at her, still smiling, but he had no intention of letting her exact her petty 'revenge'. The stein stayed locked on the tabletop and they stared off over it.

"Yes, I'm fucking concerned. She was supposed to have chucked out that shell already. She was eager enough to put her life on the line in Micasa." She let go of the drink. "Taking on a man twice her size in the fucking dark? Hell, raiding an armed police station? Why curl up and get pissy now?"

It seemed simple enough to Rathley. But then, who the hell knew how women thought? "Maybe she's on the rag."

He chuckled when Chopper didn't look happy with that answer.

"Okay, maybe it's 'cause she *wanted* to play hell raiser when they screwed her over. Wanted to fight back. And now she's just gotta sit on her hands. That's gotta take the fun out of anyone's personal liberation."

"...It's not as though *any* of us like it. Except you, maybe. You fucking bastard."

Rathley shrugged. He didn't care enough to argue the point. Certainly not while he was enjoying his beer. "She'll learn. They always do. Or they get themselves shot. One or the other"

"Thanks a whole fucking lot."

***

The revelation two days before had hit Abigail like a sledgehammer to the gut. Kyle and Sharn had been dancing around the issue of the prostitute for over a day, and she had been more than ready to take Sharn's side when Kyle's evasions came to their logical conclusion. It was strange for her to see Sharn displaying such open jealousy, so she wanted to be the voice of reason and moderation this time. Chopper and Rathley certainly couldn't be trusted with that.

Then Kyle told the whole unedited truth and, outside the day she had first killed a man, Abigail had never felt so dirty in her life.

"S-slaves? She was a slave? The whole brothel were slaves!?"

By the time Abigail had found her voice she had already missed half the fight. Kyle had a bloody nose, and Sharn's left cheek was bright red after the slap she had received in return.

Rathley was just watching as if it was an enjoyable soap opera, and Chopper didn't seem to care one way or the other. Or not enough to say anything, at least.

"I *said* you didn't want to know," Kyle snapped, wiping at the blood that dribbled down to his lips. "And like I said, if I wanted her, I wouldn't have left in the first place."

Though she had faired better in the sharing of blows, Sharn was the one who sounded more wounded. "You *lied*! And don't think I didn't see how you were playing with her either! How am I supposed to believe you weren't doing anything while you were holed up with her?"

Kyle obviously considered that below the belt, or slander at the very least. "I didn't. But you can believe what the hell you want. I haven't lied about a fucking thing. It doesn't matter *who* she is now!"

"IT MATTERS TO ME! It *matters* that you were so in love with that *whore* you wanted to buy her outright! What does that make me? Your consolation prize?!"

"If it weren't for *Elspeth* then Rathley would probably still be rotting in his cell, and we might have got shot up for the sake of getting Abby's caps back."

Sharn wasn't having any of it. "This isn't about Rathley or Abby-girl. This is about *you*. How much is there about you I don't know, Kyle?"

Abigail should have been mediating. Taking sides alternately and playing the go-between to calm them down. But weren't they all forgetting something important here?

"Don't you care that she was a *slave*?"

She didn't receive a reply. Just more argument as Sharn stalked off ahead, looking betrayed, and Kyle threw his pack to the ground in frustration after being vilified for doing what was asked of him.

"At least those ones are treated well," came Chopper's belated answer.

"They're being prostituted! Against their will!"

Chopper shrugged, and tried to take her arm. "You've killed people against your will. Better than the alternative."

"What, 'whore for me or you die'?" Abigail spat, feeling sick to her stomach at her companions' lack of moral outrage.

"Probably worse. If they don't make money, they get sold on. God knows what the next owner might want out of them."

"Why don't the police do anything?!"

Chopper looked at her, matter of fact. "Either they're on the take from the slavers - that's probably the case in Micasa - or if not, the slavers are well armed enough to make anyone regret trying to take them on."

And then Chopper's voice got softer, as if to sooth Abigail's conscience. "And yeah, most of the slaving bastards deserve to be put down just like the raider gangs do, but there's also such a thing as a willing slave. Like you said, if you're starving to death - and let's face it, it's pretty easy to starve out here - at least someone buying you is going to keep you fed. You'll see that soon enough."

Abigail didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean?"

***

In the intervening days Abigail had found plenty of time to read up on the town of Willets High. Unlike Micasa, Celia the ghoul had spent quite some time in the small settlement, and the notes she had made on her PipBoy were surprisingly extensive.

The town was not large when compared to a place like Corva, but had been built within the ruins of a vast, pre-war city. Skeletal high-rises cast their perpetual shadows over the town that nestled loosely in the demolished and hollowed out centre of their city. From the outside it was impossible to see that anyone lived within, let alone a five-hundred-strong town.

But for a community who valued their privacy so highly Celia wrote about it affectionately. Yes, it was a haven for those who needed to hide, and it had more than its share of vices, but it had no dark corners to taint its atmosphere. Everyone who lived there earned their way openly and honestly. Armed guards patrolled the streets, but their presence was enough to maintain the peace, without needing to use their guns. After fleeing her captivity, before becoming a ghoul, Celia had stumbled upon the place and had received succour there in return for nothing but the work that would pay for her bed and board.

And what twisted Abigail up inside was that Celia could be so grateful to hide there from the men who had enslaved and tortured her, when Willets High was itself a slaver town. Of the only two buildings that had been reclaimed from the ruins, one was the school that housed the slave traders who had moved in decades before. And it was their influence, at least in part, that had turned a well hidden refugee camp into a profitable and contented township.

With the wasted city around it Willets High was perhaps the most defensible place in the Western Mid Waste after the Diamond Ring. The massive earthquake that had levelled the tallest, innermost buildings had also tilted the city centre, neatly shattering its sewer systems and pushing the resulting plug of city ruins a full fifteen feet upwards at the western side, and seven at the east. Those new cliffs, combined with the vast tonnage of rubble atop them, provided the perfect screen to protect the ruins from any Scavs who had missed picking the then-dangerous ruins clean fifty years before.

However, while it made the place the perfect haven for those exiled from their own communities, it also meant that food and water were even harder to find than in the desert. Without some sort of local trade they would have starved. So, when a group of slavers came to seek refuge, 'reformed' members of the Diamond raider gang, they offered what no-one else could: the chance for commerce without trade caravans showing the world and its dog where they were.

Instead of food and clothing the inhabitants of Willets High sold their skills. Men and women who would have been mobbed or captured for their expertise could work without fear of harassment, and in turn they were treated like assets by the rest of the town. Similarly, the secure atmosphere was a rarity in the Waste, and those few who knew of the town were more than eager to take the opportunity to relax and let down their guard, and the town had learned to cater to that desire. That was why Rathley and Chopper had brought them there, after all. Their rest stop in Micasa had been cancelled almost as soon as they had arrived, so this was the next closest option as far as they were concerned. It lacked the same breadth of amenities, but they could still bank on being able to get the best out of their hard earned caps.

But that evening all Abigail could think of was the school playground and the unsold slaves she had seen milling around behind the reinforced fences, stolen from their homes and now waiting to find out what would become of them.

***

Sharn tried very hard not to wake up the next morning. Between her hangover and the smell of cooking meat coming from the hotel's kitchen stand outside, curling back up and quietly passing away was preferable to anything that the morning would throw at her.

She felt sick, tired, she ached, and she was all too aware how small and empty her single bed was. None of those things were right, and yet just then she was loath to try and remedy any of them. She just pulled the thin bed sheet back over herself and tried to block out the world and her waking discomfort.

It didn't work, of course. No matter how civilised she appeared with her Scav-savvy attitude, she had still been raised a tribe girl. Living with the land, her village having gone back-to-basics many generations before, there was no leeway for wastelander sloth. Every able body was needed as soon as the sun rose, eking a living from the dry dirt, weathering the sun and the rare, terrible storms of water or sand, and celebrating at their many simple fortunes. Those who could not wake to do their part were forced awake, by means either painful or embarrassing, depending on who was doing the punishing.

As such, no matter how she had become used to it in the wasteland towns, Sharn could not sleep in. After failing for almost twenty minutes she finally forced herself unsteadily from her bed, and swore under her breath as she realised she would have to be dressed if she was to go down the corridor to the toilet. While Sharn had no compunction about walking around unclad it wasn't wise to invite that sort of attention in *any* town. It hadn't even been advisable in her village for that matter.

The 3rd Rafter Hotel, like every other building in town besides the reclaimed school and city hall, stood only on the ground floor, so Sharn had to suffer the embarrassing amusement of the hotel clerk who sat behind his scavenged office desk.

"I hope you didn't enjoy the sipping liquor too much last night," he said, sounding honestly sympathetic, but it was also clear that she was paying the price for her drinking, and he knew it.

"Yeah, no chance of that," she replied with slightly tart sarcasm. "Where are the toilets again?"

The clerk just pointed her down the other hall, where the storage and utility rooms were. Thankfully it was her head rather than her stomach that the alcohol had hit, so she didn't have to worry about being heard retching her guts up, but while in there she did realise that the small communal lounge in the hotel foyer had been noticeably empty.

"Say, have you seen the girls I came in with?" she asked once she was done.

The clerk nodded. "Yeah, most of our guests don't hang around during the day. The tall one in the coat went out early, said she was going to look for work. The other girl left about... an hour ago? I don't know where though. She didn't say anything. Rathley and the younger guy left for the bazaar a while back, said they'd meet you girls there."

"Hmph, they did, huh?" Instantly Sharn could feel the resentment welling up at Kyle's presumption, but it warred with the loneliness that still lingered after waking up without him beside her. Damn her inconsistency. It didn't matter how much she missed him, she still had the right to be mad as hell!

"Thanks."

***

Abigail had been sitting on her re-planted park bench for a good hour by the time Sharn came to find her. They were supposed to be relaxing, and catching their breaths after all the recent stress, but Abigail was having trouble with that.

It wasn't because of the surroundings though. For all her moral misgivings, there was something comforting about the secluded, rubble-built town. Perhaps it was that it had walls. It was familiar and safe not being able to see the horizon, even though it was the ruined and hollowed out cityscape that obscured it. She had grown accustomed to the vast, flat expanses of land, but being enclosed - protected from the outside - was still a welcome sensation. The fact that the destroyed buildings outside the town limits looked ready to collapse at the slightest provocation was just a minor concern next to the security of being hidden behind them.

And it was noticeable how the city around them had shaped the town. Unlike the spacious layout of Corva or the few strict rows and squares of Micasa, Willets High was a small, comfortable mishmash of buildings, overshadowed by the two storey school and the town hall, but each house looked like a house. All of the steel and concrete from the centre of the destroyed city had been cut down and reassembled to make each new building, all huddled together as the first true bastion of masonry that Abigail had ever seen. The founders of the town must have scoured the city for anything and everything they could use, and they had done a magnificent job.

But the end of her brief morning wander had brought her back to the school. She had lost enough sleep over it already, yet she couldn't help but watch the men and women milling around their playground pen, behind their two razor-wire topped fences. A throwback to the slavers' origins as Diamonds, perhaps.

"Hey. You know, if we could get them out, we would."

Abigail turned to see Sharn join her on the bench. Though she didn't say it, Abigail thought Sharn looked as tired and bleary eyed as she felt. Instead she just nodded and turned back to look at the large expanse of cracked tarmac that made up the pen.

"I know. I saw their guns."

It had been impossible to miss them. While most others were more discreet about carrying their weapons, these slavers had their guns in their hands or ready at their hips at all times. Even Rathley had the decency to keep the forward end of his shotgun stashed in his backpack rather than hanging from his fingers. And they looked like powerful guns as well. Maybe nothing like those which the super mutants had wielded in her vault, or like the over the top shotgun Stephanie had sold to Bason, but their pistols were big, their shotguns looked like they packed more than one or two shots, and Abigail had seen enough vault cinema to recognise an 'assault rifle' on one large guard.

"It doesn't make it feel any better watching them though," Abigail finished. "No-one deserves that."

She nodded towards the slaves, and she was thankful when Sharn agreed. "Of course. Whatever we say to try and make it easier, I doubt any of them went willingly. But if they weren't slaves then they'd be dead. They had something someone wanted, and they were lucky to look valuable enough to keep around."

"And you know," Sharn added, with a sad smile, "actually, it's not as bad as I thought when Rathley told us about this place. They look like they're treated okay."

The unhappy truth was that Abigail had been thinking the same thing. The prisoners were given little to wear, but none of them looked beaten or malnourished, and if anything they seemed better groomed than some of the less sanitary inhabitants of Corva. None of the women seemed afraid of attack, and they were even making up sports of their own inside the pen. It was a long way from the kind of cruel incarceration Abigail had imagined Celia suffering from in the headers of her earlier PipBoy diaries.

"Of course, that's not much of a consolation," Sharn admitted, "but Kyle wouldn't have agreed to come if we'd had to sit back and watch what most slave traders do."

Abigail was surprised at that change of focus there. Not because it was unwelcome, but by the fondness with which Sharn had said his name. "Have you made up then?"

Maybe Sharn hadn't realised how she had said it, because the denial was instantaneous. "What? No, he's not getting off the hook that easily!"

"You really should, though," Abigail said, and she meant it. "I mean, *I* don't like seeing you two like this. Does it really matter that much that he had a girlfriend before? Even if it was serious, it's over now."

Much to Abigail's surprise Sharn glowered at her. "Of course it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter who she is or why he thought he was in love with her. But he was in love with her for *years*, and he didn't *tell* me. He kept it a secret! And the Kyle I fell in love with never kept secrets, let alone anything like this. How much do I really know him if I never knew about someone who was that important to him?!"

Abigail blinked in surprise. She moved to calm her friend down, but privately she had to admit that, considering how close their relationship was, it was a very good question.

***

Though the temptation of a shopping trip was alluring, Sharn and Abigail managed to avoid the well populated bazaar when they finally left their bench to finish exploring the town. Sharn was still intent on making Kyle stew for a bit, and neither of them really needed an excuse to avoid socialising with Rathley. They lived with him on the road, and it was pleasant to be out from under his aura of black sarcasm, condescension and the occasional flashes of raw grit.

Privately Abigail had thought she'd rather liked the peace while Rathley had been in jail, after the fact.

So shopping was out, but neither were they in the mood for alcohol. Like the rest of the services in Willets High the two bars looked very worthwhile, for a good sit-down meal and a fun stand-up night respectively, but as the time for lunch came and went Sharn was still recovering from her hangover, and Abigail just wasn't in the mood to drink with strangers. She didn't much like the town, so she wasn't prepared to get friendly with its inhabitants yet, however hospitable they were.

Instead they returned to their hotel, and to the kitchen stand outside. It was hardly the kind of gourmet cuisine that they could afford these days, but they could pick and choose exactly what they wanted in their stonebread from the trays of meat and (to Abigail, unidentifiable) roughage.

If she was honest Abigail would have preferred brahmin to the ever present iguana, rat or the various strips of 'ant' on offer. And there was no way that could have been ant meat unless each of the tiny insects had grown to two feet long! However, never one to be squeamish she echoed Sharn's order for it, and whatever the soft, yellowish meat really was it had a sort of nutty taste - much like Vault 42's synthetic bacon before being salted - but wasn't in the least fatty when it came off the portable griddle, and it sat well in Sharn's uneasy stomach.

"It's been a while since I had this," Sharn said, as she began to enjoy her meal properly after the first few tentative mouthfuls. "I didn't think people ate ant this far west."

The cook agreed, shaking his head. "They don't. Especially if you get around the Cobalt Line. They don't consider it 'healthy' meat, but it's a damn sight better than pigrat if you ask me! Those mean bastards are tough as old boots."

Abigail looked at her long sandwich. "It's really *ant*?"

Both the cook and Sharn looked at her in surprise. "Sure it is. Guess you've never had the pleasure either."

Abigail shook her head, and Sharn giggled as she realised that Abigail had never seen a wasteland ant. "Think of a mantis, but less spindly looking. They're about that size and a damn sight less dangerous to hunt."

"And you don't find 'em in the open much. But here?" The cook looked around at the ruins surrounding the town. "Whatever the outsiders around here might think, ants'll always been on offer in *this* town. So long as the Radscorpions don't clear 'em out first."

Abigail didn't know what they were, but she could guess, and Sharn looked at him in shock. "You have *Radscorpions* here?"

The cook nodded, but shrugged off her concern. "Just a couple of sightings. They've not come near the town, and the Dean's got some guys hunting 'em down. The only problem'll be if they eat our food out from under us before we can get rid of 'em!"

With the afternoon to kill after lunch, and since they would be staying in Willets High long enough to rest for a while, they went in search of their sometime-mentor. If Chopper was hoping to practice her trade again then Sharn wanted more lessons, and learning a bit more basic medicine would help keep Abigail occupied if nothing else. If she was left with nothing to do she might fall back into old habits and end up sleeping the days away, like she had in the mercs' caravan carts.

***

Of course, the obvious first place for Chopper to ply her trade was at the reclaimed school. While there was bound to be a doctor or two in the town these slavers would always want to make sure that their merchandise was in good condition, and if a different physician could speed up the time it took to get everyone seen then she would be welcomed with open arms.

Having tracked her down, Abigail and Sharn weren't welcomed quite as warmly though. They would have had better luck if they had not asked after Chopper at all, because as soon as they mentioned her the door guard's smile grew distinctly frosty.

"Yes, the Dean decided we could use her services." The man was huge and raggedly dressed, and he waved his shotgun over to block the door. "So we'd like to leave her to it. No offence."

While Abigail thought he was imposing Sharn remained un-cowed, and gave the enormous man an exasperated sigh. "Look, we're her *assistants*. We're not here to *abduct* her or anything."

The guard wasn't convinced. "Chopper doesn't look like the kind of woman to mislay her help."

"No, but she's the kind of woman to leave us behind because we were royal pains in the ass last night. I'm sure we'll be better help now we're sober."

Abigail felt the urge to point out that she hadn't been drinking at all, but she managed to hold her tongue when the guard gave them both a wry look, and dropped his gun back to his side.

"I bet. And your stuff?"

"In that shiny red and white box she carries around. You don't think she lets *us* keep the scalpels do you?"

"Fair enough. Get inside already."

Sharn gave him a winning smile. "Really, was it that big a deal? I mean, what could we do? I didn't even bring my gun."

The guard shrugged, and returned her smile with a creepy one of his own. "The less trouble we have around here the better. Besides, if you're not hers after all that then I'll get you put on our catalogue!"

***

Chopper was working in one of the upper floor rooms, which she had turned into an impromptu examination theatre. It looked to have been a lab or something before the war, but now all that remained were a few basin benches and rack upon rack of storage shelving. Most of the rest of the rooms up there were the slaves' rooms, sleeping six to a room in the ever-present bunk beds that seemed so prevalent both inside and outside the vaults.

The heavy set guard did not get to make good on his threat of a permanent residence for them though, and Chopper just gave them a distracted greeting and invited them to make themselves useful since they were there.

"I didn't think this was your scene," she said to Abigail as she examined a male slave's calloused and swollen right foot.

"It's not," was Abigail's simple reply. "You said it wasn't yours either.

Chopper shrugged, and felt around her patient's foot until he sucked on his teeth in pain. "If anyone needs attention, it's this lot."

She looked up at the man, but Abigail and Sharn could tell that she was directing her comments to the important looking man who supervised her as much as to her patient. "It'll heal, but you wrecked it pretty well. But that'll happen if you're going to run around on the asphalt in bare feet. We can sew up the laceration, but it's been left too long already so it's going to be ugly regardless. I'm amazed it didn't get infected."

She turned to Sharn, and held up her needle and thread. "Fancy getting to work?"

Sharn took the needle, but hesitated. "We're not going to give him any painkillers?"

Chopper looked to the slave. "Do you want painkillers?"

To Abigail's surprise the slave had to think about it a moment. Then he declined. "No. Just do it."

The slaver watching them quirked his lips in a smile. "Brave boy."

"In that case lie him down on the bench and hold him still," Chopper said to Abigail, wearing a smile of her own. "I'll hold the leg so Sharn can concentrate on sewing."

Abigail swallowed hard as the slave lay down on his back for her, and she pinned his shoulders back as best she could. "I'm sorry about this," she whispered.

The slave shook his head. "At least it's getting done, finally."

How long had he been hobbling on it like that? Abigail had to wonder.

"And it'll teach you not to try leaping off windowsills for the sake of your sports," the slaver warden noted.

The slave hissed and bucked a little under their hands as Sharn started to work. "Yes sir."

It took an agonising few minutes as Chopper guided Sharn through the process again, until at last with a short tug and a gasp of pain it was over.

"Definitely better," Chopper said, appraising Sharn's work, before he turned to the warden. "Keep him off that foot for at least two weeks, and get him a crutch, because if he uses it too soon there could be serious problems. He's aggravated it too much as it is." She huffed. "You might want to let them keep their shoes from now on as well."

***

Although Abigail had intended to be learning from Chopper and Sharn she ended up spending much of their working time with that first slave. After Sharn had sewn him up it had been down to her to finish dealing with the wound, as directed by 'A Dress(ing) for Every Emergency' in her vault medical manual - a book that Chopper seemed to have permanently added to her medical kit.

But while leaning how to apply dressings was valuable knowledge, she had been far more interested in how the man had ended up in his unenviable situation.

Alan Pearcing hadn't been anyone of particular value or import in his home town of Celebrity, a town up north west of Willets High. He had, however, been an able and fit young man, and had killed two of the Dean's slavers when they had descended on Celebrity.

The town had been an easy target though, and had never stood a chance of resisting. It had been as close to the Mid Waste Swarmlands as had been thought safe - much like Corva was as close to the Cobalt Line as people had dared to build - but decades of complacency had not prepared them for the summer of 2155. It had been so lethally hot that year that it drove the mantis swarms out of their territory and into the rest of the Waste, leaving devastation in their wake. Celebrity had been reduced to a chewed up ruin, over half the population killed along with their crops and brahmin. Those that had barricaded themselves well enough to weather the swarm had tried to rebuild and clear out what mantis infestations remained. Then the slavers arrived.

Willets High had been hit as well, and the Dean's men had been in no mood for resistance. They took what little there was left and rounded up everyone of physical worth. Those like Alan who still had the strength to resist had been too valuable then to be shot, but were instead subdued with overwhelming force. The wounded and infirm were left with a single cart and a barrel of water to take them wherever they wanted to go. They could not hope to fight back, and the bullets had apparently been too valuable to waste on them.

When Abigail had asked Alan had told her that the children had been taken as well. The older ones, teenagers who were too loyal or vengeful, became slaves for sale like their parents. The younger ones who could still be bribed or brainwashed had since filled the Dean's own weakened ranks, and had now become the teenager slavers they had seen loitering out in the school corridors, keeping the place sanitary and evidently content with the hand they now held.

It was both sick and logical. The slavers might treat their merchandise well, but they treated their own people far better and, while it may have been bought, their loyalty to each other and to the Dean was solid. It was made more upsetting that Alan had little to complain about. He was among those few who had remained unsold for more than six years, and while the liberty he was allowed was paltry he was treated relatively well. His only remaining anger was over the day his wife had been sold, and he'd had to stand back and watch knowing he would never see her again. After losing their two children to the swarms that had driven him to madness for a while, and earned him a solitary room and a permanent watch until his senses had returned. He just consoled himself with the knowledge that she had been bought by a wealthy pair, and whether it was to be the man's mistress or the woman's maid she was probably living better than he was now. And even that better than he could have managed scraping the remains of Celebrity back together.

He was, Abigail had realised with pity, resigned to the life of a comfortable prisoner. And apparently, after the first few months of life in classroom bunks and behind the fences, very few of his fellow slaves thought differently.

***

"Abby. Abby? Abby! Are you going to sleep all day?!"

Abigail woke with a start to find Chopper looming over her. Her alternately seductive and caustic lover looked a lot more amused than she sounded, but still managed to seem disapproving enough to prevent Abigail from turning back over on the Hotel's lounge sofa and trying to ignore her.

"Huh? What's the matter?" she mumbled through the unpleasant morning taste in her mouth. "Are we going again?"

Chopper let out a mocking breath. "Yes, assuming you want to eat today. The bar's on the other side of town."

Abigail moaned. She rally wanted to go back to sleep, before she was forced to acknowledge that she wasn't all that comfortable with her leathers crumpled up around her in their dishevelment. She probably wasn't making the best use of her image right then.

Chopper only made it worse by asking, "You know, you could have stayed in bed instead."

"I just wanted to relax a bit, after you got me up so early for breakfast rat-burgers!" Abigail grumped.

Then, as she brought herself upright, her eyes widened in realisation. "What, you're going for food again already? What time is it!?"

"Time for lunch, and a late one at that. The others are eating already, but I'm not having you miss a meal when there's already so little meat on you."

"I was going to come and learn some more first aid from you! Why didn't you wake me?" she asked petulantly.

Chopper gave her one of her condescending stares. "Because I was too busy working to come back and haul you off this couch. And it's not like you missed much. I was patching up slavers instead of slaves this time anyway."

Abigail nodded unhappily in reply, but to her surprise the Hotel owner seemed to shrink behind his desk at the mention of the Dean's second job, and the men that carried it out. She chose not to enquire though. She felt groggy as hell, and could only cope with one thing at a time right now. That one thing was going to have to be Chopper.

"So who are you dealing with this afternoon then?" she asked, making it obvious that she resented being left out of the morning's work regardless, even if it was her own fault.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Chopper replied with a more serious, appraising look as Abigail got to her feet and made herself look more presentable. "It's about time you learned to shoot."

***

Back in Vault 42 the thought of their single firearms locker had been one of security and familial trust. Those few people with access to that limited armoury were dependable beyond the shadow of a doubt, and if there ever was to be an uprising those weapons would be used both swiftly and sparingly to protect the Overseers' council and the vault population. They had never been needed until that last nightmarish day, but nobody had ever worried that a member of VaultSec might one day use their own weapons against them. Combat inside the vault had been a sport, not social discontent, and softball or wall darts had been Abigail's sports of choice instead of karate or judo.

Now however, the everyman was armed and determined to protect his life and his property with lethal force, and his paranoia was not unjustified. If you could not shoot back then you were at the mercy of anyone amoral enough to want what you had.

Abigail had wanted to argue the point. She had come to hate guns even before she had ever fired one herself, and her attitude had not changed even after blowing away the last remaining mutant in the abattoir that her home had become. At least with a knife she could threaten - seem imposing and in control - without one mistaken impulse blowing off someone's head. And she knew how to use a knife. Moving from miniature javelins and wall mounted bull's-eyes to stripped down knives and mantises or raiders had not dulled the accuracy in her arm, and she did at least trust her arm. However well meant the gift had been, she did *not* trust the pistol that Albert the ghoul had given her.

"But," Chopper had said with all seriousness, "Who's going to be scared of a knife when they've got a gun pointed at your head? Even with a measly pipe gun, they can pull the trigger faster than you can stick your hand out to stab them. At least if you've got a pistol pointing back at them they're less likely to kill you in case you pull the trigger out of reflex."

Unfortunately the knife fighter of their own group agreed. "A blade will get you a long way," Kyle had explained, "and best of all it's silent, but think about what we *have* gone up against. Your knives might get you a few quiet kills, and if you can take a guy out of the fight from a distance with them then all the better, but what if you get caught and have to take cover? Just firing in the air is enough to make me think twice about chasing someone down, because I don't know that he can't put a lucky shot between my eyes."

So Abigail had relented, but not before forcing Chopper to join them. The doctor had expected to spend the afternoon going over her medical inventory again and buying the supplies she needed to shore it up, but she had admitted more than once that combat was not her forte, and so Abigail had been given all the justification she needed to rope her into shooting practice as well.

The range was set up well outside the town since they had no official shooting areas of their own, and old burnt cans and dirty bottles made up the firing line along the top of a concrete wall in the ruins. Rathley and Sharn merely watched from either end, while Kyle ran Abigail through the motion of using the old 10mm Colt in her hands. It was a deceptively simple weapon, but that didn't give Abigail any more confidence about using it.

"So, once you've checked that the safety is off and chambered the round you're ready to go. Hold it back up like I showed you, look down the sight, and breathe slowly. Just pull the trigger as soon as you're ready, and remember that you're expecting it to kick so don't hold your arms too tight. How about we give her a couple of shots head start Chopper?"

At the other end of the line Chopper was watching them with her sub-machine gun in her hands. Abigail had forgotten what make that gun was moments after Kyle had told her, but all she needed to know was that despite coming from a different pre-war company it was essentially the rapid-fire version of her pistol. It used the same bullets, and Chopper liked spraying out lots of them to make sure that she always hit, no matter how bad her aim was. As such if Chopper ever said she was going to open fire you got out of her way as fast as possible!

This time however the older woman had her weapon set on single fire mode, and they would be competing. Whoever had got the most targets when they'd hit them all won. It was Kyle's way of motivating them. It was just a shame than neither participant wanted to compete much.

But if she was being given a free hit that was fine by Abigail. She would need all the help she could get. She lined up her target, let her breathing slow like Kyle had told her to, and squeezed down on the trigger.

She blinked at just the right time to avoid the worst of the muzzle flash, but the noise and the sharp lurch from the weapon made her shriek and stagger back a few steps into Kyle's hands. Something could have died just then, and she would only know when she looked back up! She did *not* like guns at all!

However, Kyle, Sharn and Rathley all did apparently. Sharn perked up very quickly in her congratulations, and Rathley's gravely voice sounded impressed. "I guess that's one more talent under your belt, Sugar."

Abigail looked up slowly to see what they were talking about. One of the cans had been removed neatly from the wall.

"Though we did say to start from the outside and work in," Kyle chastised with a chuckle.

Abigail was much less happy with the result, and admitted it with a very sheepish voice. "I know. I was aiming for the one on the end."

The applause came to an awkward halt, "But a hit's a hit," Rathley said pragmatically. "One-nil to you, Sugar. Let's start the competition!"

Chopper sounded as unhappy about that has Abigail felt, but neither one objected. Abigail couldn't help jumping whenever she or Chopper fired, and it didn't help that Chopper's third shot finally hit its mark while she continued to put bullets into the wall or off into the city ruins. However, both her fifth shot and Chopper's fourth hit their targets soundly, and Abigail felt a surge of confidence at her achievement, buoyed up by the pleased look Chopper gave her as well. Each shot flashed too brightly and sounded terrifying, and even now her wrist was beginning to ache after all the abuse from the recoil, but maybe she could desensitise herself to it the way the others did.

She raised her gun again and gave a glance towards her lover before she lined up her sixth round, but when she pulled the trigger the flash was far too bright and the pain in her hand far too sharp. She dropped the gun instinctively as if it had bitten her.

It may only have been seconds later but she came to her senses again as Kyle caught her. She hadn't even realised she had fallen backwards again, but her head hurt and her hand ached, and everyone was rushing to her as Kyle sat her down.

It was only then that she saw the blood welling from her fingers, and felt a trickle of the same from her forehead. "Wha... What the hell?"

"You're okay, Abby-girl," Sharn soothed. "You'll be fine."

Chopper was far more venomous. "Kyle! You bastard! Didn't you check out her fucking gun?!"

"Of course I did!" Kyle retorted. "It was old, but it looked fine. It was probably a bad round. Just make sure it's nothing serious."

Then he turned his attention back to Abigail, still holding her as she shook. "It's okay, Abby. The gun exploded, but you look okay. Just relax and try and calm down."

From the back somewhere Rathley chuckled. "Nice way to get acquainted with pistols. Anythin' permanent?"

"No, Rathley," Chopper said far too loudly, "it's nothing permanent. Just a burn and some cuts. A stimpak and a couple of bandages and you'll be fine, Abby. But I'm going to wrap up your hand for a few days, okay?"

Abigail nodded. Her tears were coming from the pain that now throbbed in her hand, but she knew a stimpak would deal with that in short order. It was her morale that had taken the brunt of the blow. "God damn it. Alfy would have loved to see a screw up like this."

"Who's Alfy?" Sharn asked, but the question was drowned by the reassurance that came from Kyle.

"Hey, Abby, you didn't do anything wrong. I was watching. It was just a bit of real bad luck."

Abigail turned on him with a look of rage. "Yeah! *My* god damned luck!"

Then just as quickly as it had appeared that anger faded. "Uh, sorry." She winced as Chopper slipped the stimpak needle into her hand, then began to bind it up where the flying metal had torn into her index finger. "Can we go back to the hotel now? I think I'd like some of that sipping liquor."

"Sure, hon," Chopper said. "I think you've had enough shooting for one day."

***

"Hey, Abby, you done now? Time's getting on."

Abigail looked up from the mess she had made of their hotel room and sniffed. She'd been done throwing her fit for a while now, but after all the noise and fuss she had made she didn't blame Chopper, or any of them, for giving her more space than she had needed.

It had been stupid really, her usual brand of self-deprecating nonsense, but combined with a few too many fingers of liquor it had turned her into a raging lunatic. She'd even gone as far as trying to punch Rathley for his 'take it in your stride' attitude, with predictable results considering that her hand was bloody and swathed in bandages. In the end they had done just what she had wanted - left her alone - and so she had stewed in her own neuroses for an hour before pulling herself up by her bootstraps and telling herself that she had to live with it, by whatever means necessary.

Three hours and another bout of screaming rage later and Abigail had settled down for the most part, which is how Chopper found her. It rather pleased Abigail to see how surprised Chopper was by her lucidity, especially amidst all the torn out dresser drawers and scattered bedding.

"Feeling better, are we?" Chopper asked once her initial look of incredulity had worn off.

Abigail sat in her mess, unaccountably defiant, and sniffed again. "Yes. Thanks for asking."

"Don't get mad at me for not asking sooner," Chopper said, frowning slightly. "You made it pretty clear you wanted nothing to do with us 'savages'."

Abigail remembered that, and it hurt that she had meant it at the time as well. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that. I was just angry."

"No kidding." Chopper regained her more pleasant, enquiring expression and sat next to her on the ruined bed. "Fancy telling me what that was all about?"

Abigail's defiance returned with a vengeance. She didn't need to explain herself. She knew what Chopper was like. Even when she was pleasant and seductive, she wouldn't resist making fun. "Not really. It's my baggage, I'll live with it."

But she also knew that Chopper was one to pry, and as unsubtly as possible, if she felt it necessary. This time she did. "Worse than having a pack of psychotic, steroid pumped lobotomy patients kill everyone you've ever known?"

Abigail glared daggers at her for that, but Chopper went on undeterred. "I guess you never do your personal issues by halves, do you? And if it's as bad as all that," she said leaning forward, "then even the old bastard's going to worry about what you're keeping from us. After all, with the way you were going on last time they saw you, I'd have sworn you were trying to drive us off. Stupid, huh?"

"Yeah. Stupid." It wasn't stupid in the least. Chopper had hit it right on the nose. Well, she was stronger than that. If something *did* happen to them Abigail wasn't going to accept responsibility for it.

"So is it really that bad?" Chopper asked, a quirk in her smile. "The slavers? Seeing an old city? More bad dreams?" Then, absurdly, she almost seemed serious as she made her last suggestion. "Man troubles?"

Abigail's indignation vanished in a burst of hysterical laughter. Chopper laughed with her - in relief, Abigail hoped - but Abigail could not stop herself. By the time her giggles were back under control Chopper looked almost worried, and Abigail wiped her watering eyes. It was hilarious because once again, and quite unintentionally, Chopper had got it right. Just not in the way she had expected to.

"Yeah," Abigail said, with a sigh. "Man troubles. But not you!" she quickly explained. "I mean, men don't come with your kind of chest after all."

"So... You're not entirely gay after all?" Chopper enquired, her face now straight but not blank or cold. Just waiting. "Kyle maybe?"

"No! Not men as in *men*. Men as in Alfred Parker."

She could see Chopper was lost now, and wondering what the hell this unknown man had to do with anything. "He was a friend of mine. When I was five."

"In the vault."

"Yeah. Gillian, Alice and me, we played with the boys a lot when we were kids. One day we were mucking about in the gym, and I said I'd race Alfy to the top of the climbing frames. We weren't supposed to be playing on them, and Alfy wasn't as good as me. He slipped, and fell. We were probably only twenty feet up it, but it looked like a long way back then. He broke his arm and got carted off to the medical suite, and I got told off, grounded, rationed... I was just glad Dad never smacked me, 'caus there were some dads who would have beat the hell out of me for 'getting Alfred hurt'."

"So? Shit happens. He shouldn't have tried it if he couldn't do it."

Abigail tried to look plaintive, wanting Chopper to understand. "We were only five. I was the kid who didn't get hurt, so it was my fault for putting him in danger. Anyway, I didn't care about getting my sweets rationed or staying in our room, was just upset about Alfy. But he blamed me as well. He said it was my fault. That I jinxed him and made him fall. And I believed it."

Abigail was glad for Chopper's incredulity this time. "What? That bullshit?"

Abigail shrugged. "I know it's stupid, but that's when it all started. I'm a screw up, plain and simple. When it matters most I can guarantee you I will mess up. Remember that super mutant? What kind of idiot would not only miss a target that big, but put her knife into one of her *allies* at the same time."

"Things like that happen in combat. A lot. You have to react instantly, full of adrenaline. And you *did* take it down..."

"During our festival," Abigail interrupted, "I was on stage performing some acrobatics on the gymnastic ropes. I had the routine down pat weeks in advance, and on the night I miss the rope and *I'm* the one falling head over heels, twenty feet down to the floor. And I'm not the only one keeping count. Some of the boys had a record going in the vault! When I'm around I *do* jinx people. They flunk tests that they should have passed easily, they screw up routine maintenance, put salt in the sugar cellars. They have their guns jam, or blow up in their faces, or kill people they shouldn't have done."

"Is this about Old Burt? People die in fire fights Abby. This is bullshit. It's just bad luck, coincidence and carelessness."

"And I don't want you to die because of *my* bad luck, or *my* coincidences or *my* carelessness! My nickname in my own home was Jinx, Chopper! It doesn't matter why it happens, or why it's me. It just is, and it *does*!"

She smiled, her rant now over. She hadn't expected explaining her terrible, contagious luck would take so much out of her. "I'll carry a gun if you want. You're right about it being useful. But I don't want to rely on it like you do. If something went wrong again it might be worse than just getting my hand cut up."

Chopper stared at her seriously, and let out a long breath. "You know how stupid that all is?"

Abigail refused to wilt. Even now she still had enough fire left in her to stand her ground. "Yeah. I know. And call it what you want, I know it's true."

"So how come you didn't accidentally blow up the generator in Micasa? That would have been pretty nasty."

Abigail shrugged. "I'm trained to do that stuff. And back in the vault, I was still being mentored so that I *wouldn't* screw something like that up."

She took a deep breath, and let all the anxiety go. Chopper knew now, and that was that. "Whew. Tell the others if you want."

"It's your business. If it matters that much, you can tell them that nonsense yourself."

"And what about you?" Abigail retorted "What's your nonsense, Chopper? You can't tell me you don't have baggage."

Now her lover grinned at her. "Me?" she asked, getting to her feet again. "Daddy and I didn't get on. So, are you coming out yet? We were going to start debating where to eat again before you shanghaied me."

"Well do excuse me, 'Marie'. And don't change the subject. You *can* tell me. I promise not to scream or run away or anything."

Chopper shook her head. "I bet you wouldn't, too. But I don't want to deal with that just yet."

"But you will tell me eventually?" Abigail wheedled, happy to have the initiative over her for once.

"Yes. I will."

"Good girl," Abigail said, taking her arm and giving her a quick kiss. "Now I'll leave you alone and we can go and find some food."

Chopper gave her an un-amused look. "You brushed your teeth already?"

"Hey, having clean teeth always makes you feel better."

And behind them, out of sight in Abigail's bag, sat the little bottle of Buffout, yet another pill emptier.

***

Em's Bar was exactly the kind of place a girl needed after an afternoon like Abigail's. The people were happy, the food was fast, the liquor was strong and music, such as it was, kept the air friendly and highly charged. The quintet at the back of the large, concrete built hall all played scratch build instruments - mostly drums and horns - but the energetic, aboriginal mess could still pass for music even to a cultured vault girl like Abigail.

And it made her feel so much better. The mixture of fading, unnecessary combat drugs and newly drunk alcohol was a heady brew, diluted by grilled brahmin and freak vegetables. Under all that, and with the drums pounding through her, she could forget about the pain in her hand and the worries for those who weren't there with her.

Chopper had her weak beer in hand and her growing collection of brown bottles was slowly invading the darkened tabletop. No wonder she had started getting a gut, Abigail thought, but she felt too euphoric to bother passing judgement. Instead she opened her mouth so that one of the new friends at their table could feed her another piece of steak.

Chopper had acquired them from the dancing crowd as they had left to rest their legs and recharge on whatever booze was waiting for them. Casey, the one who slipped the fork into Abigail's waiting mouth, was just brilliant! She was full to the eyebrows with piercing and her voice squeaked like a rusty gate, but she hadn't stopped smiling since she had plonked herself down with them. She had bubbled through her introductions and had made it her night's goal to hear Abigail's life story, never having met a vault dweller in person before. Chopper had tried to interpose herself between them when Casey started feeding her, but was now resigned to having one of them on either side of her, and let Casey lean across whenever she felt that Abigail needed more to eat.

She had descended to keep Abigail company while Chopper had spoken to a more severe pair of Casey's friends. David and Katina were... Abigail didn't know what they were, but they lived on Chopper's wavelength. David shared Abigail's favour for black leathers, while Katina dressed like she had fallen through the bazaar that morning and come out dressed. They were asking questions about the raiders and had been very keen to hear about Abigail's super mutant, but Abigail hadn't really wanted to talk to them. The pair had just come to have fun and get drunk or get laid, like everyone else, but they were killers. Somehow she knew it. They were laid back and smiling, but somehow too reserved. Or maybe it was just the booze talking!

Anyway, they were hiding out in Willets High for the sake of a woman they knew, but they never went into detail about that, so Abigail contented herself with Casey's exuberant company while their friends talked shop. When Casey asked about her own friends Abigail pointed out the rest of their splintered group.

Rathley was sat on one of the patchwork lounging chairs, a woman in each arm. They looked as dishonourable as he did, their hair bleached, inked and shaved in strange ways, and full of metal.

Then again, Casey had just as many piercing as they did, and she was lovely! Weird.

Thankfully Rathley seemed to be his usual unpleasant self, and while he took advantage of their very close company he obviously had a different woman in his sights, all curves and somehow gyrating in his direction on the dance floor.

And Sharn and Kyle... Abigail sighed. They looked like they were trying.

"Well, come on!" Casey said suddenly, leaping over the back of her chair. "Let's go help 'em out!"

The pair of lovebirds sat facing each other on their table, while their little audience by the wall placed bets on their staring contest.

"I'm not asking you to beg!" Sharn exclaimed as the pair got closer.

"Then what, Sia?" Kyle asked over his fourth empty glass. "You just want out?"

"No I don't 'want out' you deaf prick! I want *my* gunner-man back!"

Kyle's unsteady stare just got colder. "You're looking at him. This is all I am, Sia. Yeah, I loved River like my life depended on it. Turns out it didn't. I moved on. There's nothing more I can do."

Abigail and Casey shocked the pair of them by pulling up a chair each and setting their drinks on the table with a crash.

"That sounds pretty good to me, Sharn," Abigail said. "I know you love him."

Casey took the line with Kyle. "And you know, 'Gunner-Man', whatever it is, there isn't a girl alive that doesn't like hearing their guy say they're sorry, eh? It ain't that hard either."

Kyle shook his head. "I won't apologise for River."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT HER!" Sharn cried. "I never did! But you never told me! You never cared about me enough to tell me? I never kept anything from you. Nothing!"

"Hey," Abigail tried, "everyone has a few secrets."

But Sharn just shook her head, staring at him. "I didn't keep *anything* from him. But what's he still keeping from me?"

All eyes around the table turned to Kyle. "You want to know everything."

"Oh ancestors! I knew it."

Kyle stared at her unhappily. "I'll tell you. Everything. Beginning to end."

Abigail's heart leapt as Sharn's face lit up. "That's all I want. I want to know who you really are again."

She pulled herself out of her chair to take his shoulders in her hands, but he stopped her.

"I'll tell you, but you won't like it."

"I don't care! I love you, you moron."

"It's that important to you?" Kyle asked, confused.

Sharn nodded. "Of course it's important. It's who you are!."

Abigail, Casey and their peanut gallery let out a cheer as Sharn slipped onto Kyle's lap and finally kissed him.

"Whew," Casey said, with a grin. "That was hard work."

Abigail could only giggle in agreement. "You're telling me."

It was so great to have the two of them finally make up again, even if it took alcohol and a shouting match to do it.

"You know, she's pretty frisky," Casey noted as the kiss grew heavier. "Is she always like that? Maybe we ought to find a bucket of water."

Abigail's eyes widened as Sharn's hands slipped up Kyle's shirt. She knew Sharn was passionate and had little concern for privacy, but this was ridiculous.

"Forget the bucket. Someone get a hose!"

***

To be continued...

***

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2009


	13. An Eye for an Eye

After the Vault: Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

***

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 13

An Eye for an Eye

For a short while Abigail did not realise that she was awake. She had become used to the certainty of the light in her eyes to confirm that daybreak had come already - often for many hours already. The ability to ward that harsh glare away now came to her instinctively as her body came back under her own control, learned from the repetition of it day after day.

However, that morning there was no sunlight to burn her retinas, and her limbs refused to do her bidding. Instead her head swam in the darkness, inflicting its own insufferable pain on her eyes, as if in retribution for the burning brightness it was so often forced to acknowledge through them. Her first instinct would have been to clutch her throbbing head, were her limbs not twitching beyond her control and already clutching at something in her bed. Something soft, warm and smelling of woman.

"C-Chopper?" Her voice sounded loud in her own ears, but that was the least of Abigail's worries. Her shivering was wholly involuntary, and she hoped that she was still merely dreaming of her hangover to come. She'd had a couple of hangovers in the past, but alcohol had been tightly regulated in Vault 42, and this had been the first time she had drunk more than a unit or two in one sitting on the surface. Chopper's style of surface beer, limp and lacking in both hops and malt though it was, was much more easily drinkable than the tasty but viciously rough liquor.

"Abby?" The strong arms around her tightened, and Abigail realised that though she was clutching her lover as she shivered Chopper was holding her even more tightly than that.

"About time you woke up," Chopper said over her shoulder, moving to cradle Abigail's head against her neck. "How am I going to get any sleep if you're twitching like this all night?"

"Sorry," was Abigail's instinctive mumbled response, but it did nothing to hide her worry. Was she sick? "W-what is this? How much did I drink?"

Chopper's hard words didn't disguise her own soft tone either, and Abigail could at least take comfort from the fact that Chopper was holding her and had not left her to tremble in her sleep alone. "Too much," Chopper answered. "Do you feel cold?"

"No." It sounded absurd, but Abigail was warm in Chopper's arms. Wonderfully so. She just couldn't stop shivering.

"And I don't think you have a fever." Chopper moved her hands and pulled them together again beneath their sheets. "You weren't having another nightmare?"

Not that Abigail remembered. In fact, she didn't remember dreaming about anything at all. "No?"

"Ugh, you are so much trouble. We'll need to find out if you're allergic to beer, or something stupid like that."

Abigail wished Chopper would make her mind up. She was scared enough as it was. If Chopper was going to chastise her she should stop stroking her hair like that. "Well I'm sorry!" Abigail retorted, feeling as pathetic as she knew she sounded.

Chopper paused in her stroking, and for one worrisome moment Abigail thought she was going to leave, but instead that hand just wrapped around her shoulders and held her tightly again. "And I have to look after you when you start making out with your new punk friend in the street, and making me look like a fool. Maybe it's your own fault and you just caught a cold."

"...I did that?" Abigail couldn't remember that. Or, she almost could, but her head hurt too much to think back. "I didn't mean to."

"You get very friendly when you're smashed."

"Did I... do anything with her?" She knew she hadn't - she trusted herself and she genuinely loved Chopper, she wouldn't cheat - but then how drunk *had* she been. What *had* she done?

"Would I be here if you had?"

Abigail breathed a mental sigh of relief, even though she didn't actually know the answer to that question at all. Then she blushed, despite her headache, recognising just how naked they both were, and how closely Chopper held her. "Did *we*...?"

Chopper snorted, though Abigail thought she sounded a little relieved, if anything. "Hardly. You passed out in the street. She and I had to carry you back here. Now shush and go back to sleep. Maybe you'll be better when the sun comes up."

Abigail certainly hoped so. She did still feel tired, despite her trembling body. "Chopper? I do love you."

Chopper huffed, but did not relinquish their embrace in the slightest. "Sleep. Now. And get better, so I can stop worrying about you."

Good enough for now, Abigail thought, and she tried to put her throbbing brain back to bed.

***

It was with much relief that Abigail did finally rise again. Her hangover persisted, taking the few bright rays that shone through the shutters and sharpening them into daggers, but the worst of her fevered trembling seemed to have passed. Her muscles still wobbled and felt as weak as paper, but she did not have to clutch herself or at Chopper simply to feel secure.

She was also relieved to feel Chopper still at her side, and she buried her head in the woman's chest, and away from the sunlight that speared into the room. "Chopper? Are you awake?"

"Of course. I have been since sunrise. With your eyes I'm surprised you never notice it."

"It's not lunchtime already is it? I'm not hungry."

"No, it's not that late yet. But you missed breakfast. The sleep seemed to be doing you good so I left you."

She had? "And you came back," Abigail added, feeling warm.

"Of course. I keep an eye on all my patients."

Only someone like her could have made that sound provocative, but Chopper's syrupy tongue seemed to manage it with ease. "That's sweet," Abigail mewled. It didn't allow her to forget her hangover though. "I don't suppose you have a remedy for headaches?"

"Several. Though I think this might be a good lesson in moderation."

Abigail groaned. "Chopper..."

The older woman sighed and pulled away, and Abigail hoped it wasn't wholly out of exasperation.

"Stay put. I'll mix something for you."

"Thank you, Chopper."

Once she was alone in the bed Abigail pulled the sheets over her head and curled up. It wasn't very dignified, but it made her feel a little better. Chopper had seen her at her worst, and her most vulnerable, so she felt safe showing her a little indulgent patheticness! She felt less like a weakling invalid curling up like that and more like a hibernating mouse warding out an excess of... whatever it was that mice drank to excess. If mice even existed any more.

"I think we should get you a few drinks again tonight," Chopper said as she tore up some leaves and stirred them around in a mug of hot water. "We ought to find out if it was the beer giving you the shakes, or just the combination of too much of the stuff and the cold."

Abigail groaned. "What? I've had enough already!" she whined. In fact she felt like she'd had enough alcohol for a week!

"So you'll stick to hard liquor for the rest of your life, regardless?"

That thought didn't seem any better. "Ugh, okay. But only one or two. I don't want to end up like this again."

"That's probably not a bad thing," Chopper said, sounding appreciative. "Alcohol is a poison."

"I know," Abigail replied. She'd paid attention in her biology classes but she was surprised to hear it from Chopper. Her lover was usually so hard headed about health. "So why do you drink so much?"

Chopper brought her herbal concoction over to the bed and pulled back Abigail's sheet, smirking. "Who wants to stay sober out here?"

***

Sadly that morning's activity did not prove entertaining enough to help Abigail forget her hangover. Or, for that matter, the comparatively faint pain in her right hand. She still wore the bandage that Chopper had made her the afternoon before, but while Chopper assured her that it was healing well Abigail didn't feel the need to be reminded of yesterday's introduction to firearms quite yet.

"Shouldn't we wait until I can hold it before I buy a new gun?" she asked. It wasn't a particularly hopefully question - both Chopper and Rathley were the 'get back on the horse' types - but it did at least have some amount of practical merit to it. Was there much point looking over the weapons that the merchant had in his shop when she couldn't yet hold one to see if it even fit her hand?

Rathley thought that there was. "You know what you want, Sugar, and we know what you can handle. Might as well get one while they still got some that you'd be willin' to shoot."

For some reason Rathley had taking a liking to her. She hadn't realised it until this morning, but the callous man was making allowances for her benefit. Maybe it was their chat after the row about her Buffout, or helping break him out of prison, or maybe just her willingness to go along with them and get herself into danger. Whatever the reason, it seemed like Rathley was looking out for her. After all, he was there now helping the little girl whose gun had exploded, and not off enjoying his ale and whores. Abigail wasn't quite sure whether to be grateful or worried that he was making the effort to be a human being on her behalf, but at least he knew what he was talking about when it came to guns. Maybe not as much as Kyle as far as pistols were concerned, but then Rathley was there and Kyle wasn't. He and Sharn were nowhere to be found, and hopefully having their promised heart to heart.

Chopper was there though, and being just as unhelpfully supportive as Rathley. "And your cuts weren't bad enough to stop you holding anything. That bandage is coming off after lunch you know. At worst you'll only need a bit of tape to keep the laceration closed."

Abigail hadn't realised that the word laceration was not supposed to be a cause for concern, but she didn't argue. Her head couldn't take it. She just sighed and took the gun Rathley had been inspecting from his hand. "So, you want me to have a revolver? Won't the cylinder bit jam up? I think I need one that won't go wrong."

"Not a chance, small, dark and mysterious," the gunsmith said. "'ya want to see how many moving parts a semi-automatic has?"

The grease stained man reached to a shelf at the back and brought down a tray, filled with the open carcass of a sleek black gun. Had it been intact Abigail would have thought it looked far more reliable than the small, clunky and mechanical looking device in her hands, but taken apart she was stunned to see all the separate pieces that sat rolling around, freed from their casing.

"Oh. And this one?"

The man took the pistol from her and cracked it open show the cylinder inside. "That's it. Pretty much anyways, aside from a spring and a few bits inside the grip, being double action and all. 'ya want it taken apart?"

He would do that? Abigail thought. Right now? She was tempted, but she wouldn't have known what she was looking at either way. "No, I believe you."

The man actually looked a little disappointed. Maybe he had wanted to show off. Abigail did have one question for Rathley and him though. "It is still a bit big though, isn't it? Bigger than Albert's."

"No, it's pretty compact for a magnum," the gunsmith replied, a little confused.

Magnum? That was a word Abigail knew from the movies, and it worried her. "*Those* things?!"

"You can handle it," Rathley said straight up. "Ammunition's scarce for a .357, but this ain't nearly as rough on you as a .44 would be, and if you're not gonna be shootin' so much you won't be needin' to hunt out spare cartridges."

The shopkeeper agreed. "If it's what 'ya want I've got a couple of dozen I can sell, .38 specials for it too if ya' want something lighter to fire, but they don't have the same bark! None of them are cheap mind, but enough to practice on if ya've never fired one before, and still have a full cylinder, plus a reload."

It was then that Abigail was saved from the gun-babble by a voice she recognized.

"Hey, Abby!" Casey called, bouncing into the shop to join them. "I saw you outside. I thought you said you hated guns!"

Abigail chuckled uncomfortable as the gunsmith raised his eyebrows. "Umm, well, my last one did bite me," she said, showing off her bandage again, "but my friends are right. I probably ought to have one."

Casey nodded. "Yup, true enough. Nothing says 'back off' to a guy than putting a hole in him!"

Seizing that moment Chopper turned and stepped next to Abigail, wearing a vicious smile. "Speaking of which..."

Casey looked at her and gave a guilty, apologetic smile. "Aha, umm, I really *didn't* mean anything by last night, you know? Honest."

From the doorway Casey's friend from the bar called to her. "Case," the scruffy woman Katina said, sounding bored, "are they comin' or what?"

"Coming?" Abigail echoed.

Casey just grinned, looking slightly embarrassed. "Uh, I was going to invite you guys to lunch?"

***

"So where are the lovebirds?" Casey asked as they dug into their fried fruit-veg and barbequed rat. Once again rough cuisine, but it was edible, and apparent ant gave the girl stomach problems.

"Making up, I hope," Abigail answered.

Casey's chewing lips broadened into a wicked smile. "Still? Man, I wish *I* had their stamina."

Abigail blushed as her words were turned on her, but Chopper replied as if she didn't doubt it for a second. "With them, anything's possible."

Casey was just as fun sober as she was drunk, but that might have had something to do with the fact that Abigail couldn't see much difference. The punkish young woman was still a bouncy, squeaky voiced bundle of enthusiasm, eager to talk and just as eager to have them talk to her. She was also surprisingly articulate considering that she had three rings, a pair of studs and a small safety pin through her lower lip.

Her appearance and dress was quite at odds with her light-hearted, personable attitude. Abigail wanted to know just how many piercings she had, but hadn't plucked up the courage to ask. Casey was *full* of them; her lip, nose, eyebrows, and especially her ears were all hung or run through with the plain and even utilitarian jewellery. She also saw little reason to cover herself with over-hot leather the way most Scavs or Mercs did, and her dusty white vest was tight enough to show that her accessorising was not limited to her face. Simple army green trousers, also tight where it mattered, as Abigail could not avoid noticing, and a pair of heavy black boots completed Casey's minimal wardrobe of the day.

Her hair would also have been punk looking, hap-hazardly bleached from a deep auburn into a pale rust colour, except that it had been bunched into a pair of pigtails, each sitting high on her head but still long enough to brush her shoulders when she turned her head. Combined with her bubbly attitude she seemed like she should have been head cheerleader for a goth football team.

And it was only now, with a clear if aching head, that Abigail realised that Casey didn't *wear* any jewellery. No rings, bracelets or necklaces at all. Not even an ornament in her bleached pigtails. Just piercings, and lots of them.

As for Casey's companions... maybe Abigail had been a little unfair to them the night before. David might be a killer, he admitted it freely enough, but Abigail had killed raiders and even two Super Mutants now. But whatever his reasons for doing so, David hadn't let it make him dark or bitter. Unlike Abigail he wore his black leathers not as a statement or as a matter of attitude. It was not worn to protect him either, so much as it was just his clothing of choice.

His smile was pleasant and approachable, and though he did not pry himself he was happy to answer her accusatory questions. Abigail didn't doubt he was keeping a great many things to himself when he spoke, but he admitted enough to make her feel guilty for having had such a harsh opinion of him. He just took life in his stride, because what point was there with getting angry or upset?

Beside him, Katina disagreed with his outlook. She was both vocal and reticent in equal measure, as her mood took her, and she objected that she had a *right* to be angry, if for no other reason than *wanting* to be. But that violent mix of temper and brooding silence made her seem more human than she had appeared the night before. With her alcohol she had seemed too calm and worryingly cautious, as if she might break off from a laugh or an argument to murder someone without a moment's notice. Now, however, she was just a moody woman who knew what she wanted, and gone was the edge of tension in her gestures.

And her appearance was as chaotic as her emotions. Her hair, long and pale, was wrapped up in a garish head-scarf of yellow and red so that her fringe poked out from under it, and streams of hair stuck out at odd angles to fall down her neck or shoulders. She hid her toned physique beneath both a chequered shirt and a thin sweater that was slowly wearing away. Baggy combat pants covered her legs with the fastenings and straps left to hang loose. It had all been less modest at the bar but no less random; a T-shirt with obscenities peeling off it, sports gloves that she still wore now and shorts that would have looked more at home on a pot bellied scout leader, held up with a belt.

David and Katina also looked like they shared a parent, or at least an ethnicity. They were both fairly short and slim, but made of nothing but bone and muscle. Katina in particular, what could be seen of her beneath her baggy clothing, looked like she could take apart a man twice her size. They had the same square nose - though Katina's had been broken and re-set at some point - and the same slur in their vowels. What differed was their hair: plain, black and allowed to grow into an attractive fringe on David, while Katina's messy tresses were bleached and dyed until they were lighter than Casey's. It was strange to be able to point them out as kin when so many surfacers had blended together into a few basic ethnic mixtures, losing their more subtle distinctions along the way.

The three of them had brought their charge this time as well, so it was this new woman who garnered much of their attention.

Fran, as they called her, was a woman from another world entirely. She was certainly not a wastelander, but at the same time there seemed to be no trace of a vault education or the kind of awe that Abigail still felt towards the world around her.

Her skin was pale but tanning, like Abigail's, and her black hair was long and well looked after, but in contrast she wore a coat made of animal fur and a pale dress that flattered her chubby body. She even wore sandals instead of boots, though they were sturdily made.

Fran was a woman of privilege. In large towns like Corva, or even cities reclaimed from the wasteland, there would always be people rising to the top. In her earlier years, many miles to the east, Fran's parents had been those people. She had been raised with comparative wealth, protected by bodyguards, and lived a life of luxury amid those eking out an existence in the ruins.

Now she was an adult, the last survivor of her spoilt family and inheritor of an entire city that she did not know how to govern. Where Erin Goldway seemed intent to succeed in Corva, making herself indispensable and admired by her eventual township, Fran had failed. But even now she had fled, that dying city was still hers, in spirit if nothing else, and it had been decided that whoever took her head would be the one who had proved themselves fit to rule. She and her bodyguard had fled, taking the few people they most trusted with them, and after two years of flight and bloodshed they had arrived in Willets High. And yet after all that, she seemed more like a normal person than Abigail was now.

"I am told you are capable, by reputation," Fran said, and she gave a pointed, melancholy look towards Katina. "And I don't expect I will be allowed to stay here forever. Would you come with us when we pass under this 'Cobalt Line' that Casey talks about?"

That was an interesting request. Abigail had not been giving any thought about where to go next. She had rather hoped that she could convince her friends to help the slaves here is Willets High, but that was a pipe dream at best.

"Nope. Sorry, but we're not out for work right now."

Rathley's reply caught Abigail off guard, and she looked at him in surprise. "We're not?"

"Right now what we need is R&R, not bodyguard duty," Chopper said, agreeing with him.

"But you've been working here!"

Rathley smirked. "What she means, Sugar, is that she's gonna do her thing, I'm gonna do mine," he held up his beer, "and we're gonna get you doin' yours."

"My thing?" Abigail asked, confused. "Which would be what? Are there any air recyclers to fix around here? A local softball team?"

"Besides sleepin', that's a good question, ain't it? You're good with machines? Find one to play with. Check out your gun. Keep that pitchin' arm in shape. Read your little PipBoy thing and do whatever it is you do with it."

Across the table Casey shrugged. "I don't know, chilling out and getting drunk seems like more fun!"

Fran seemed disappointed by the reply, and the reasons for it, but she did not press. "Well, if any of you change your minds I don't hope to be leaving for some time yet."

"Unless the Radscorpions do start causing problems," Katina put in. She smiled at Fran, looking a little evil. "Unless you wanna go on another bug hunt?"

The tall, portly woman shuddered. "Ugh, no way Kat. That's not funny."

"It's hilarious!"

Chopper on the other hand had a more concerned look as she spoke to David. "You were talking about them last night. The guards did take care of them?"

"We don't know. I'd assume not, since they haven't said anything. The slavers here don't seem like the modest type, but the way they're armed they either have orders not to say anything until they've made sure the ruins out there are completely clean, or they have a bigger problem than they're letting on."

"You meant the scorpions that are eating all the giant ants?" Abigail asked, "Like the cook at the hotel said?"

Chopper nodded. "Yeah. They'll eat people given half a chance. Tough bastards as well, unless you're armed and you know what you're doing."

Rathley chuckled. "At least the guys here have it half right. I expect those fancy guns ain't gonna save you when you've got a stinger buried in your back."

"And I suppose you can do better, old man?" Katina said, baiting him.

"Damn right. Old Bert and me, I'll bet fifty caps we killed more of those fuckers than you've seen in your entire life, Sugar."

Katina just put her hands up, accepting the loss of her trivial game. "No bet. I've never been dumb enough to walk into a pack of 'em."

With the conversation back on the other half of the table, Casey turned to Abigail again. "So, when's your hand going to heal up? I'm always itching to try out a new gun!"

Abigail opened her mouth, but to her surprise Chopper's attention was on them and not Katina and Rathley. "Oh, that bandage is coming off today," Chopper said. "I'm going to be dragging her off to the ruins again once we're done with lunch."

"What?!"

Chopper leaned in and kissed her, transparent in her attempt to mollify her. Annoyingly it did work, at least a little.

"A few bits of tape to keep the wound from opening up again and you'll be fine. I can even give you a shot of my painkillers if the kickback's too rough on it. Better you learn how to aim when you've got an incentive to waste as few bullets as possible, hmm?"

Now that was a bit much to ask, even from her. However, it was now that she saw Kyle and Sharn coming to join them, and the first thing out of Kyle's mouth was, "The range awaits your arrival, ladies. Are you ready for your re-match?"

Abigail glared at Chopper. "You couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"We have plans for tomorrow. They involve being able to shoot."

"And you couldn't even ask me along for my opinion?"

Chopper did not seem dissuaded by her annoyance. "You had passed out by then."

Opposite her Casey giggled, and tried to look sympathetic. "Ohh, a drunken plan about guns. That bodes well, huh? Well, if you're going shooting already do you mind if I come along. I want to see how good you guys really are!"

***

After all that there little chance for Abigail to escape, and both Casey and Katina joined the five of them in their second attempt to get Abigail shooting.

To her surprise, the gun itself was actually not much larger than the old thing Albert had given her, now that it was in her hands properly. It was aged as well - she suspected most guns had been reclaimed from the wreckage of the war - but had been cleaned well and treated with care by whoever had last owned it, or by the gunsmith himself.

What scared her were the bullets. Or 'cartridges', according to Katina and Rathley. They had roughly the same diameter as Choppers bullets, but instead of a simple casing the things she was supposed to be firing had a huge back end, making it look more like something to put down an elephant than any normal bullet. Well, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but they were big!

"Not as big as some," Kyle had replied, pulling his own largest pistol from his pack. He'd brought it along once he had been told that Rathley had recommended the smaller magnum for her, and she'd never actually seen him fire the thing. The so called 'forty-four' was Kyle's worst-case scenario pistol, and he only had two clips of ammunition for it, but he told her about it with a strange sense of reverence.

"Now hold up one of your bullets next to this one," he said, popping one of his .44 magnum rounds out of the clip and holding it up.

With a sense of trepidation Abigail did as she was told, and it was clear that Rathley had not been entirely untruthful when he had said he was going easy on her. "Yours will kick until you get used to them. These? They'll try to rip your fingers off!"

"That's not really helping, Kyle."

It also didn't help that he laughed in response either. "Fair enough, but the point is that you could handle my Eagle if you took the time to get used to her. You've got the strength, you're an athlete, you just don't have the experience."

Abigail didn't believe him, but at least he was being nice about it. "Maybe. Better you than me though. Well, let's get it over with."

Given that they had guests this time Kyle had decided to abandon the shooting challenge, and instead had everyone lined up with a can or bottle on the wall in front of them. Rathley and Sharn sat back and watched, since bringing their shotgun and rifle to a pistol range didn't seem fair.

Chopper started off the shooting by missing her target spectacularly, but the rest of them had better luck. Casey used a gun similar to the one Abigail had lost, and picked her target off the wall with little trouble, although she had a very square stance that Katina was constantly trying to correct for her. Katina herself also had a revolver which Abigail was glad to see, though it was larger than her own. Then she heard the woman shoot it. The weapon sounded like a cannon going off, and Katina's can was torn in half when the bullet punched through it.

"Oh shit..."

"Don't worry about that," Kyle advised. Lining up his own shot. "She's firing .44s, like mine."

Kyle the planted his feet, looked down the line of his huge silver gun, and mimicked Katina by shattering his bottle on the wall.

"One of these'll put down a brahmin," Katina boasted, grinning at Abigail's hesitance. "Go on already. Give it a squeeze."

Abigail swallowed hard, and set her feet in the way Kyle had told her. She looked down at the long cut on her hand and the strips of surgical tape that held it shut. Oh fuck, she thought. Here goes nothing.

"Get your back straight," Rathley called from behind her, and she let out a held breath, wishing he would shut up just at that point.

"Just be prepared for more recoil than last time, and you'll be fine," was Kyle's more helpful advice.

Abigail decided she had better just shoot before anyone else decided she needed 'help', so she raised her gun, squinted down the sights and fired.

She flinched when the gun bucked violently in her hand, and damn was it loud, but then it was over. She was still standing, her fingers were still intact, and there was a neat chip out of the top of the wall, a few inches from the bottle she had aimed for. She let out a sigh and lowered the gun again. "Whew. Heh, yeah, that feels worse than the old one!"

"It should do," Rathley replied, "with the amount of gunpowder they stuff in those."

"Hey, I guess that's not bad for your first shot," Casey said, and Sharn bounded over to them with a grin on her face.

"So? What do you think? Gunner-man was right about how much meaner it sounds!"

Rathley just looked smug from his seat among the rubble. "That's the plan."

It was a fairly good plan, it turned out. Given her attitude towards guns he had advised that she buy a dozen or so of each type of ammunition the gunsmith had offered. She would train on the harsher .357 rounds and they would get her used to how the gun sounded and felt, but once she was comfortable with it she would only ever have one of them in her gun at any time, as her 'warning shot'. The rest of the chamber would be filled with .38s which were easier to fire, but slightly less impressive to hear. That way if she had to take part in a fire fight the gun would feel a lot easier to use, while her first shot would hopefully make enough of a statement to dissuade anyone from starting one to begin with, or guarantee a more lethal opening shot if someone else started it.

Not that it was going to replace her knives - she was far more comfortable and accurate with those - but at least now she had something to use as a scare tactic, or against more heavily armoured assailants.

And beyond the sharp flashes of pain in her wounded hand, the gun behaved itself just as the gunsmith had said it would. Casey seemed surprised that Abigail was such a poor shot, but then she hadn't quite realised that that firearm training had been restricted to security personnel down in the vault. "I was just learning how to fix the ventilation and lighting systems!"

Katina however had been spending more time observing her as the afternoon had worn on. After Abigail had emptied her chamber and called a halt to her practice for the sake of her throbbing hand, Katina tucked her own gun into her waistband and wandered over.

"You looked more formidable that that. I can't believe you still need teachin'."

She had spoken with an idle sort of condescension, but Abigail took exception to it. "Life was better when I didn't have to worry about guns, and being shot at all the time. And *you* were always pulling Casey around because she's standing wrong."

Katina smiled. "Fair enough. But she can fight, at least."

"She is pretty good," Abigail admitted. Casey was nowhere near Kyle's level of skill, but she was better than Chopper or herself.

"And at least she's less likely to run up to a raider in nothin' but that vest with whatever blunt instrument she found last."

That was exactly what Abigail's own companions were trying to do for her. If only Katina didn't make it sound so much like a joke. She couldn't help it if throwing sharp objects was as good as her fighting skills got.

"And at least I've graduated from throwing ground nuts at raiders," she joked.

She never expected Katina to laugh though, but she did. The scruffy woman actually collapsed on Abigail's shoulder, laughing like she had just heard the best joke in the world, all her attitude vanishing in the blink of an eye. "Hahahahahahah! No wonder Case likes you, vault girl! Oh, you two are precious! Hey Case, guess what, vault girl was a rock chucker as well!"

Casey looked around from the firing line, surprised. "Really? No way! And you said it was a stupid idea! Those rocks saved my life more than once, you know?"

"Hey, don't point it this way! Gun down, damn it!"

"Umm... Oops?"

***

That night Abigail took to the beer with more caution. It wasn't that the limp alcohol was any worse than the night before, or the company any less fun, but after her night of shivers both she and Chopper had decided that it was worth seeing if it really was the alcohol that had done it, or just the cold.

Or, Abigail had realised, the combination of booze and pills that night. That was most likely. You couldn't drink with aspirin, and now maybe she had found out what happened when you mixed alcohol and Buffout. All the more reason to rely less on those little green tablets, she decided.

She didn't dare share her late realisation with Chopper though. She had received enough of a bollocking about it the first time, and so far her scavenged tube of toothpaste was hiding the chemical taste of the steroid behind a veil of peppermint. With a strategic bit of tooth brushing every now and then Chopper need not know, and it was Abigail's business to deal with.

Still, she was pleasantly drunk soon enough, and she was content to play with Sharn, Katina and Casey while the others drank and compared weapon calibres.

"Bah, as if point-oh-four-three of a centimetre makes any difference," Katina said, very loudly. Her baggy clothing was now hanging off her as if she had slept in it and just woken up, and it made her look far more drunk than Abigail suspected she was.

"A gun's a gun. It does the job. It's a tool. And if your tool ain't up to it then you just make up for that as best you can." She grew a huge, salacious smile and cocked her head back to the other table. "Right David?"

"I love you too Kat."

"Hee, he loves me. And he's good with his fingers," she added, wiggling her digits at Abigail and Sharn.

Sharn just gazed lazily back at her, her head propped in her hands. "Hm. I don't have that problem."

"Trust me, teach him. No matter how good his gun is, it's worth it."

Abigail was having flashbacks of her old sleepovers with Dee and Jaqueline. Abigail had been as interested in gossip, sex, or gossip *about* sex as the next girl, but when it was other girls she was wanting to sleep with? It would have made for a bit of a conversation killer, and she knew Sharn was still wary about Abigail and Chopper's physical intimacy.

Not that Casey or Katina knew that, of course. "Eh," Casey sighed, "I need to find someone who'll let me drag them around the desert too."

To Abigail and Sharn's surprise Katina looked hurt. "What? You have us."

"Yeah, but... you and David are... you know, you and David." She sounded earnest about that, if a little melancholy.

"What? Of course not. Well, sometimes, except when it's you and David. Or you and me. Or all three of us in a heap."

"Well, yeah, but..."

Abigail blinked, the latter part of their exchange passing her by as she looked from Katina over to David at the other table. "Huh? You two aren't related?"

"What?" Katina stared at her as if she was mad. "No. And no, we *don't* look alike!" Despite the fact that they definitely did, and both Abigail and Casey could tell they agreed on that.

Then Sharn stopped them, wearing an incredulous expression. "Wait, wait. You three *do* that?"

"Sure," Katina replied, drunkenly unassuming. "You know. Variety, seasonings, all that jazz? We're a sharing lot!"

Sharn just looked confused, and a little cautious now. "If someone did that with my gunner-man I'd run her through."

"And what if *she* was a *he*?" Katina asked, obviously looking to make trouble now that Sharn's mores were in the open.

"Then I'd 'disarm' the bastard."

Casey sighed while the other two squared off, and turned to Abigail with a smile. "I guess Chopper must be good too, huh? I've heard stories about her."

That brought Abigail up short. She hadn't a ready excuse for her nocturnal proclivities, but then it seemed she didn't need one any more. "Umm, yeah. I met one of those stories. She was nice, but Chopper never said why she broke up with her. Or she didn't give a decent excuse, anyway. But Chopper's a bit like that. She's not very nice a lot of the time, until you find all the love underneath that insensitive skin."

"Must be a pretty thick skin, because no-one but her girlfriends ever seem to see it," Sharn said, sounding unconvinced.

Abigail shrugged. "It's... personal. She's passionate, very passionate, and she just sweeps you up. Even when I'm mad at her she can do it. It's really annoying!"

"Sounds brilliant to me!" Casey said, grinning from ear to ear. "Maybe we could share sometime?"

Abigail blinked, unable to form a coherent response to that. What reason was there not to? Except that she wanted Chopper to herself. The passionate Chopper was *her* Chopper. And looking at the other side, Casey was fun, and Abigail was attracted to her despite her unsettling choice of facial accessories, but actually doing anything would be betraying Chopper's trust. Abigail was Chopper's lover, and despite her prickly exterior she *did* love her.

Chopper was a deeply passionate cactus?

Abigail had to stifle a giggle as soon as she opened her mouth.

"Ah." Casey looked embarrassed. "Silly question?"

"Umm, no, it's just... I don't think..."

From the other table Chopper's voice caught their attention. "I'm not available, and I'm afraid you're not my type." She paused, her voice getting quieter. "What Abby wants to do is her business."

Abigail found herself sobering up at that statement. What the hell? Was she allowing Abigail to sleep with Casey?!

"I'm not going to spend our entire stay trying to separate you two," Chopper added. So it was clear there was a line, and from the tone in Chopper's voice it made a big difference which side of it Abigail stood on. Chopper just wasn't going to stop her crossing it if that was what she was intent on doing.

Abigail looked back at Casey, trying not to notice that both their groups were waiting for her to speak. "... I'm sorry, Casey. I don't want to lose her."

Thankfully Casey didn't seem hurt by that. "Yeah, I didn't want to break you up or anything. I just thought it might be fun."

"Well," Rathley said, now that the eavesdropping was over, "if you girlies *do* want to play together while you're here, Kyle, Chopper and me have been thinkin' about a little run around the ruins. And assumin' the Dean's people still ain't back by mornin', we might just wander out and take out those Radscorpions ourselves. Properly. Earn ourselves a little respect. What do ya' say?"

***

This time Abigail woke to a hotel room that was bright with morning sun and a body that was still fully under her own control. Her weak arms ached from breaking in her new gun and she barely had the energy to turn over, away from the sunlight that tried in vain this time to filter through the shutters, but there were no shivers or spasms to scare her into full wakefulness. So it was not the alcohol that disagreed with her after all.

Her head did not bother her so much either, and it was with a more luxurious laziness, rather than pained retreat, that she tried not to finish waking up. No more Buffout with her beer, and probably no more before bed regardless, just to be sure.

She had no time for her own advice that morning though. She just wanted to enjoy her lie in before she was roused for either more medical study or, if she was unlucky, a bug hunting expedition. If she did have to go then having Casey along would be nice, but apparently attracting attention to themselves was the last thing on David or Katina's schedule, even hidden away in Willets High. The people they were running from must have been very persistent.

But soon enough Abigail's bleary dozing was disturbed by the sound of the closing door, and the heavy footfalls of Chopper's boots.

Maybe if I pretend to be asleep she'll be in nice mode and won't bother me, she thought. I don't care how late it is. I don't want to waste any energy getting up!

To her thankful surprise Chopper seemed to do just that. She dropped a few things, but whatever she *was* doing she didn't say a word. Abigail found herself trying not to smile and break her slumbering act. Thank you, Chopper.

Then, a few moments of blissful non-sleep later, was the sound of two boots being removed. And more clothing? Abigail had barely considered it before Chopper did pull back the covers and crawl back into bed.

But not beside her. Instead Abigail felt one warm, sturdy leg climb over her so that Chopper's soft thighs straddled her waist. Somewhere in that right thigh was a deep, ugly hole - a bullet wound long since healed - but right now it simply caressed her hip, the old scar of no matter at all.

Large, gentle hands - larger than Abigail's own at least - took her shoulder and rolled her onto her back with care. It opened Abigail's eyes only because she knew she could not keep up the charade any longer, but the lack of force or roughness in Chopper's touch might never have roused her otherwise.

Kneeling above her Chopper looked down and pursed her lips. "You were faking?"

Abigail was too relaxed by the care with which Chopper had handled her to be embarrassed or ashamed, and simply blushed up at her. Chopper was clad only in her underwear, and the sheets pooled behind her. "I hope you were going to wake me up before doing anything else."

Chopper leaned down to kiss her, just brushing her lips at first, but more deeply when Abigail gave in to the desire to kiss back. Chopper tasted of ant meat and apple-tomatoes, and it made Abigail realise how hungry she was, but more than that she was pleased to have found out what Chopper had chosen for breakfast like this.

Abigail was loath to let her go just then, but Chopper pulled back, looming over her on all fours. "Would that have been enough of a warning?"

Abigail kicked the now uncomfortably warm sheets from her legs and nodded. "What brought this on?"

Chopper lowered herself, and nuzzled into Abigail's neck as if seeking her own comfort in Abigail's body they way Abigail so often sought it in Chopper's. She felt Chopper's fingers trailing down her sides, stroking comfortingly. "The missing slavers haven't come back after all. You're going to have to put that gun to good use."

Abigail released her soft hold on Chopper, and tried to look her in the eyes. "Then this is consolation?"

Chopper pulled herself fully onto Abigail, her heavy breasts and twisted bra pressing into Abigail's small bosom. To Abigail's surprise she didn't seem in the least worried or apologetic. In fact she almost seemed to gloat to herself, and she kissed Abigail again, her eyes glowing with triumph. "Why would I need an excuse to take you to paradise?"

Abigail caught her breath, a blossom of warmth flooding her stomach as Chopper's thumb swept over her navel. "And the scorpions?"

"What about them?" she replied, kissing back down into Abigail's neck. "They won't be a problem. I just thought you'd want to know."

That unbridled confidence only made Abigail's cheeks warmer. Maybe this was Chopper's display of victory over Casey, or perhaps her lack of concern about the Radscorpions was a bluff, but either way she had drawn out Abigail's desire with ease. If Chopper wanted to love her now, then Abigail would revel in it eagerly. She untied Chopper's brassiere and pulled it from between them, and wrapped her legs around the hand that edged between them. "Okay. Show me that paradise of yours then."

***

According to Rathley hunting Radscorpions was rather like emergency dental surgery; laborious, painful, and with a high risk of infection in the most awkward places. They both also tended to leave you wondering if it was really worth the effort or the toxic swellings. Either you were desperate to have the problem dealt with, or you were a masochist.

He said all this with a casual cheeriness that made Abigail wonder if he was just reliving his glory days. Apparently Old Bert had spent a week as a hunchback thanks to these creatures and the poisons they had pumped into him.

Casey, Kyle and Chopper had far more measured opinions on Radscorpions though. They were not fun critters, but despite their size they were still little more than vermin. Vermin that could take on a Brahmin one for one and win, but vermin none the less. It was their tendency to hunt in packs that made them dangerous. The general consensus was that if you had to go after Radscorpions, you needed to ambush them before they ambushed you.

"And don't fight them at night," Rathley added, spitting into the urban detritus. "They can see better than you can. Well, maybe not you Sugar," he looked into Abigail's sunglasses, "but these slavers? Bought it as soon as the sun went down, any money."

It wasn't a cheery thought, but Abigail wasn't in the least worried. She had an angry green fairy flying through her head, injecting confidence directly into her brain. To her mind it made a lot more sense to get the Buffout into her system *before* the fighting started, that way whatever powering up the drug gave her had time to get working properly. The initial rush of aromatic adrenaline was great, but she should be able to push herself further once it had got into her bloodstream. She knew that if she was going to be fighting eight foot killer scorpions then she was going to crack when it came down to the fight. And if she was going to do it anyway then she ought to be making the most of every tablet, not popping them any time her nerve broke. She had to make sure that she didn't freeze up and didn't flinch. She had to be professional about it.

Even Casey was professional. She had swapped her bubbling energy for cautious darting eyes and a grim curl on her pierced lips. When she spoke she slipped back into her happy demeanour, grinning at them despite her wariness, but she only let her guard down for a moment at a time.

"Yeah, I've done Radscorpions before," she said when Sharn asked. "Nasty, tough things. It's hard to get close enough to them for a good smack!"

She pulled an old golf club from the cylindrical bag on her back, and swung it downwards to illustrate. "Trouble was they didn't think anything about crawling right up to us, even when Kat and Dave were shooting them. You need *really* good aim or a *really* big gun to take one down in one shot."

Chopper shrugged, as if that didn't matter. "Just throw as much lead at them as you can. They can't walk if you've shredded their legs."

Casey glanced at her, but ignored her advice since she and Rathley were the only ones whose weapons could manage that. "The best way we found if you're up close," she advised Sharn and Abigail, "was to have someone with good aim shooting at the head or side, and someone keeping the tail busy to distract it."

She swung her golf club again. "Whoever's clubbing needs to watch out for their claws though. Just distract it, then get out of range and let your partner shoot."

"Maybe I should have brought a spear after all," Sharn said. She had her rifle, and that should be enough, but Sharn was good with long hand-to-hand weapons.

Similarly, Abigail was not good in a melee, and if these creatures' carapaces were as tough as Rathley said then her knives wouldn't do her much good unless she was stabbing up close.

"I've got more if you want one?"

Casey pulled another club out of her golf case and offered it to Sharn. "My hockey stick doesn't work to well on their shells, but a metal club can crack them nicely!"

Sharn looked at it a moment, then declined. "No, thanks. I'd need something pointed. But I'm sure a rifle bullet will do just as well. You do have an... interesting collection though."

"Hee hee, thanks! I've never been so good at fighting, but it's kind of hard to argue with a nine iron!"

Kyle gave a look at the bulge of her handgun in the pocket of her green pants. "And the ten mil?"

Casey looked down her to pocket and smiled sheepishly. "Same as Abby. Kat's right, it can't hurt to be prepared. And besides, it's cool!"

***

Just as Willets High was not a large town, its surrounding city was not vast by the standards that Abigail had been brought up on. The fallen skeletons of high rises could be circumvented given time, and wide roads offered some ease of passage through the mountains of debris. In fact, getting around the ruins was far easier than getting *into* them, especially now that its inhabitants made infrequent but regular forays to hunt rats and ants, clearing foraging runs for themselves as they went.

More worrying than the scrambling over rubble was the looming threat of a collapse. Not a single structure, be it a shed or a sky scraper, looked as though it still had the strength to support itself. Abigail feared that a single sneeze might knock any given building right down, and even Rathley in his metal shell would be hard pressed to escape from that unscathed.

And even though the city had been smallish, and only the centre had ridden its earthquake plug into calamitous obscurity, it was still a lot of ground to search on foot.

"Tracking these things ain't so easy in here," Rathley retorted when Sharn complained. "For such big bastards they don't leave such great tracks, even out in the desert. In here we'll be lucky to spot anythin' less obvious than a dead shell."

He waved his arm at the fallen buildings, and Abigail could understand his point. Even their own six strong party wasn't leaving much in the way of tracks in the concrete rubble and sparse dust. Looking for the 'pointed ripples', as Rathley called them, of Radcorpion tracks would be even harder.

Rathley continued. "They don't nest in the open though. They'll hide up in caves or hollows. That's why I told you to be looking at the buildin's. They're gonna be in there, or else in some basement. Findin' tracks'll just give us a better idea of *where* to start huntin' properly."

Rathley's idea of 'hunting properly' didn't sound like a great idea to Abigail. "If we go inside any of these they'll collapse!"

Kyle chuckled at her worried voice. "If the building they're in can hold a Radscorpion it can certainly hold a skinny thing like you, Abby!"

Beside her Casey patted Abigail on the shoulder, commiserating. "I think we've just been volunteered."

Abigail had to admit, Casey was almost as thin as she was, and taller to boot.

***

The day was wearing on and the sun had got very hot when Rathley pulled them to a sudden stop. Kyle and Casey froze the second the old wastelander's arm went up, but Abigail's attention had faltered under the heat, looking for something to keep her Buffout fuelled nerves occupied, and she only noticed they were stopping when she walked right into Kyle's back.

"Oof, what..."

To her surprise Rathley clamped his hand over her mouth hard, and it took her a moment to realise she wasn't supposed to struggle.

"Shh!" he hissed, and while he held her still his eyes began to scan the heaps of rubble and the blasted shop fronts that lined the chewed up road.

With her head trapped by Rathley's hand Abigail couldn't follow his gaze, but both Kyle and Sharn were scouring the ruins as well. What on earth could Rathley have heard? There was nothing there. Abigail's senses were better than theirs, especially with her head lit up by the Buffout.

Then she heard it too. Something was scratching against wood, up ahead. Where was that? The sound was faint and difficult to pin down among all the grey wreckage, and then just as suddenly as they had stopped so did the scratching.

"Shit, I think they heard us." Rathley reached for the stock of his shotgun, sticking from his backpack, and Sharn and Casey followed suit with their own weapons of choice.

"But we heard them first," Kyle replied with a confident whisper. "So everyone take a shop and make a racket as soon as you see something. Everyone get back here, and we let them come to us."

"Fair enough. Pick a door, boy."

He, Kyle and Sharn immediately slipped away to whichever door was in front of them, leaving Abigail, Chopper and Casey to look at each other. While Casey simply shrugged at them Chopper mirrored Abigail's expression, distinctly unhappy with the new plan.

"Gah, fuck it. Go already, I'll check that one. This is *not* how I fight."

Abigail shared her girlfriend's sentiment, but she took the cue and dashed in the direction Kyle had gone. That was where *she* thought the sound had come from, and ran as silently as possible past the shop front and into the alleyway between the still standing walls of the two buildings there. To her rational mind this seemed very unwise, but to her tense, chemically enhanced one it made perfect sense. The alley was not wide and offered little chance for the beast to ambush her except from the roof, and she was still an athlete, so darting past each intersection and eliminating them one by one would be child's play.

She did not get far before she saw the blood on the windowsill. She froze, having already circled to the back of Kyle's chosen shop. The window was gone, as they all were, but someone or something had bled over the windowsill, either crawling in or out. She touched a finger to the stain and it came away tacky, but not wet. It was nearly dry.

Then Kyle hollered from inside.

"Got her! In the key cutters! Just one!

So she'd been right! The scratching had come from in there. She puffed up with pride at the thought. What was more, she was in a perfect position to take advantage of it. As long as there were no more waiting in the wings she could stop it from retreating further into the shop. After all, if they liked to hunt in packs, would just one of them be willing to chase Kyle all the way into a five man firing squad? If so then job done, but if not she could make sure it didn't escape.

She tested the sill for stability, and when it didn't budge she vaulted inside.

***

Rathley took a step inside the room that sat behind the shop's splintered countertop. In one swift movement his body and his shot gun came down to face the right wall, and when nothing moved his eyes and 12 gauge muzzle panned across the room in a swift arc, covering as much of the floor as possible. Seeing nothing he strode in and made straight for the door on the left wall, one room down and moving on to the next.

Quick, methodical, and careful. It was a rare mantra for him to use, but combating Radcorpions in such confined quarters required it. He would be lucky to get two shells off before the arachnids could be on top of him, pulling him apart.

Not that he intended to fight inside. He would have done had circumstances been different, but he was with new company these days and Kyle's plan was both sound and safe. He had killed enough of the eight legged monstrosities to have turned their extermination into an art-form, almost on a par with the old bastard who had taught *him*. Those two shells would be all he needed to put one of the giant critters down, knowing exactly where to put his lead at such close range and then advancing or retreating as the remaining Radscorpions demanded.

The only reasons not to were Abigail, Sharn, and the stability of the building. The two women needed to be introduced to Radscorpions quickly, and fighting them above ground was the ideal way of doing so. There would be plenty of places to run, and many opportunities to overwhelm even a moderate group of 'scorpions.

And the shop? Well, that had remained standing through a continent-wide nuclear holocaust, at least one major earthquake, and over a century of seasonal sandstorms. One wad of misplaced buckshot might be all that kept it from its eventual and inevitable collapse.

But that wouldn't happen today. Kyle's shout echoed across the street, signalling his success at hunting down their quarry. Rathley allowed himself an annoyed smirk before dashing back out. The boy would be cocky as hell about it tonight, the bastard.

And it was just the one 'scorpion? Talk about an easy introduction for the girls. Still, as long as they didn't get over-confident about their easy kill...

Rathley ran back to the street, just as they all did. Sharn and Chopper looked relieved, while Abigail's new punk/goth/raider friend had swapped her paranoid look for one of energetic anticipation. *She* had the right idea, and who the fuck cared if she took it too far. You could *never* be to too careful, but nor should that take the fun out of the hunt.

Rathley did not expect to take part in this fight though. He simply watched as the Radscorpion scuttled out of the wrecked shop-front, and right into Sharn, Chopper and Casey's sights. Kyle was drawing one of his own pistols as well, even as he joined them. There was no point in Rathley wasting a shell just to add to the wall of lead that would rain down on the giant arachnid. His energy was better spent watching the alley and streets, because even if there was just the one they were about to announce themselves *real* loud.

The Radscorpion was a large one, but just as Rathley had described to Abigail and Sharn. Unlike many other creatures the only major effect of the war's radiation on the Radscorpion had been to give it its size, and its more potent sting. The thing's body was a full five feet in length, maybe more, and then its large claws could reach another three feet out from its mouth. Add to that another five feet of tail arched over its back, capped with a sizable curved stinger, and even one alone was an intimidating sight. It was also covered in deep reddish plates of chitin, though Rathley had seen Radscorpions with shells that were almost black.

As soon as Kyle had reached his firing line he, Sharn, Casey and Chopper all opened fire. Chopper only fired a few short bursts from her submachine gun, but for her hitting with two bullets out of seven was better that trying to aim properly and hitting with none. Kyle and Sharn were far better, each putting two rounds into the creature, while Casey managed to add a fifth soon enough. However, both her shot and one of Sharn's could only punch into the beasts heavy claws when they should have been entering through the weaknesses in its armour around its face.

But despite their amateurish showing Sharn did put one round into its body proper, and with the penetration power that her rifle could muster it must have done a world of hurt to the beast's insides. Similarly, Kyle knew exactly where to aim and carefully put two bullets into the same spot in quick succession, cracking open its shell and ripping a dirty great hole in the side of its recessed head.

Radscorpions were not known for their stupidity however. This one knew that it was outmatched, and rather than charge further into the hail of gunfire it wisely turned and began to scuttle back into the building, letting out its rattling call and trailing its damaged claw across the ground as it went. It was not dead, but it would not survive long like that.

It was then that Chopper also realised that her girlfriend was missing. "Wait a minute, where the hell is Abby?! God damn it!"

Rathley shook his head and idly wandered over to her side of the line. "Give the girlie some credit, Sugar. Who's money says she's in there already?"

"What?!"

And just as he said it the Radscorpion reached the wall again, crawling sideways to drag its claw as it went, and in an instant its exposed tail was grabbed from behind the concrete wall.

"Damn." Kyle exclaimed, watching as the creature dragged Abigail out from behind her cover to reveal her with one arm wrapped around its tail and another pushing her knife deep between the articulated plates of chitin. "Crazy girl. That's one way of doing it I guess."

They all watched Abigail, afraid to fire in case they hit her as she yanked the knife sideways, ripping the Radscorpion's tail apart in the process. The creature gave a hissing croak of a scream and Abigail danced away to let the broken tail hang from its bloody, thrashing stump, not quite cut through.

Rathley loved being right.

At the gun line Casey set the safety on her pistol and bounded forward, pulling her golf club from her bag. "Now *that's* better! Fore!"

They all watched as Abigail stood back, breathing heavily, and allowed Casey to bring her club down right on the fleshy wound that Kyle had opened up. The Radscorpion must not have had long left to live now, but that was one blow too many and its legs finally stopped their panicked crawling and let its body fall limp.

Not that it stopped Casey giving the creature another whack for good measure, and even Abigail kicked its tough shell in one last fit of adrenal defiance.

Rathley wandered up to them, the gun line in tow, and smiled as he regarded Abigail, Casey and Sharn.

"And that, girls, was a Radscorpion. Just don't get cocky. It's only easy when you know how."

"Or when it's outnumbered six to one and Abby's feeling reckless," Kyle added. "Not that it didn't work. Nice job by the way."

Abigail smiled though her slowing breaths, and as always it was clear to Rathley that she looked for Chopper's reaction. For all her up-tight worrying, at least 'Marie' looked like she agreed with Kyle this time. Abigail had kept the creature and herself under control, and it *had* been good work.

Rathley made another mental note to piss Chopper off about that again sometime. As long as they kept bugging her she couldn't keep the Marie thing to herself forever. She had limits.

***

That had been an exhilarating battle for Abigail. She had no real reason to feel proud, mutilating an already badly wounded animal, but it had proved to her that surprise and precision were not only what she was best at, but that they could be very effective if only she got it right. She had been in no danger from the unknowing Radscorpion at all - more dangerous had been the chance of getting shot by one of her own hunting party. She did her part, and retreated to a safe distance once the creature's stinger had been cut apart so that Casey could finish it off without risking her life in the process. Her plan had worked even better than she had hoped. She felt like she had been an integral cog in their combat machine, and they appreciated her for it.

And there was the thrill of the fight, of course. The anticipation, the potential danger, the heady fuzz of adrenaline tied to her razor sharp nerves... Chopper had been right about her, those weeks ago in Corva. Abigail *did* like it. Combat was stimulating in a tense, nail-biting way that was unlike anything else in the world.

Assuming it was going her way. Assuming she could participate, and avoid getting herself or her friends killed. But still, thrilling! Or was that the Buffout? Did it even matter? However, caught up in the rush of the battle Abigail had not turned her attention to why the Radscorpion might have be scratching away inside the back of the shop.

Kyle had.

"It was back here," he said as he led them through the shop front and into the rooms behind. The building, like most shops in that part of the city, had been built no higher than the ground floor, which was probably why many of them were still standing. That being so, instead of living above the shop the old owner had evidently found space to live in what Abigail assumed would have been office space, rather than having a separate home elsewhere.

"I caught it coming out of here," Kyle explained, "but from the look of that wardrobe I'd say it wanted in."

True enough there was a large wardrobe on the far wall, and while much of the ceiling had caved in over the wrecked bed and furnishings, the wardrobe had survived intact.

Until the Radscorpion had got at it. The front of it was covered in scratches and claw marks, from the ground and up four feet of the door, and above that the wood had been pock marked and broken through in several places by the animal's stinger. Enough wood had been scratched or splintered off that the Radscorpion would have got through sooner rather than later.

Rathley pushed to the front, a crooked, scarred smile on his rough face. "So let's see what it wanted so bad."

He took hold of the knob and yanked hard. A second later he stared grumbling at the knob in his hand, and the still closed door. "Mph, well, fuck that then. Your turn, boy."

Kyle grinned openly at Rathley's annoyance, and dropped his pack to get out a crowbar. As he did, Abigail had a question.

"What would a giant scorpion want inside an old wardrobe?"

Chopper gave her an educated guess. "Meat, probably. If one of the slaver guards managed to get away and lock himself in. Either it saw him, or followed his scent?"

"More like a blood trail," Kyle noted, pointing out a few spots of tacky blood that had oozed from under the wardrobe door. That reminded Abigail of the blood on the windowsill she had climbed through, and her stomach turned slightly at the thought of what the poor man must have gone through. Then she remembered that these men were slavers, and was this any less than they deserved? Her stomach turned again. Surely that should have been a simple question but it disturbed her that no immediate decision came to mind.

Chopper and Kyle were proved right when Kyle broke open the wardrobe a second later. Sitting in a heap, slumped over itself, was the body of one of the slavers. He had no weapon in there with him, and blood covered his left forearm as it lay cradled in his lap, looking an unhealthy shade of purple.

"Is he dead?" Casey asked, peering in with the rest of them, and Kyle checked the body for a pulse.

"Not quite. Doesn't feel too strong though."

Abigail looked at the unconscious man, pity welling in her despite her abhorrence of his chosen profession. He had come out here to try and protect the town at the city's heart. He'd just... failed. But put next to how many lives he must have ruined, and how many people's freedom he had stolen... "So, what are we going to do?"

"That's easy," Sharn said, turning to Chopper. "*Can* we save him?"

Chopper gave her a dark look, before sighing and taking Kyle's place in front of the wardrobe. She checked his pulse, his forehead for temperature, and examined the swollen, discoloured arm. The man stirred, barely even returning to consciousness, but he managed to groan in discomfort.

"Yes. I can keep him alive. Do we want to play hero?"

Rathley grinned down at her, and sucked at his teeth in amusement. "Tck, that's why we're out here, Sugar. If we can show 'em up a bit, all the better!"

So that was the decision made. It surprised Abigail how much of a relief it was to hear that they, as a group, would do the right thing. Even if it was for the wrong person - no, a person less deserving of clemency than some - he was still a person. Feeling that relief, Abigail realised she *would* have felt guilty if they had just stolen what little he had and left him to die, curled up in his own scavenged coffin. She would have regretted it. It would have changed her, set a precedent, and not for the better. Not in the least.

She actually felt her knees get a little weak at the thought. She had just come so close to letting a man die out of pure spite, simply because Rathley might have allowed her to. Rathley, of all people!

But while she worried for herself Chopper took charge. "Fair enough. Kyle, take the door off this thing and lay it on the bed. Sharn, help me get him out of here. He's too far gone to get him on his feet."

Casey retreated to a safe distance while they did as Chopper said. "A table? You can't just give him a shot? Uh, actually, do you *have* any Radscorpion anti-venom?"

"Yes, but that won't keep him alive now." Chopper and Sharn lay the fading man on her makeshift bench and turned his swollen forearm over to show Casey. Abigail also watched, and it looked far nastier than it had in the man's lap. It was not bleeding, though it was caked in the same drying blood as his lap and the wardrobe floor. The flesh had swollen to twice its size, and mottled across the bloated purple skin were blotches of sunken blackness. A clear ooze seeped from the wound as Chopper handled it, from the size of the puncture Abigail was amazed that the sting had not emerged from the other side. Evidently it had burrowed into his arm at enough of an angle to deliver its poisons properly.

"Either the Radscorion's poison sacks were running dry or he was very lucky he didn't get this sting in his trunk. He'd be dead by now if he had."

"Oh no," Sharn moaned, "you're going to amputate it?"

Chopper nodded and, from her bag rather than her medical tin, she pulled a wide, flat saw - a bone saw - and a wickedly sharp meat cleaver.

"The poison is one thing," Chopper explained as she pushed her patient across the door, getting him into a position to work from, "but his arm is already rotting. Don't want any more bad blood getting back into him. Sharn, hold his shoulder and pay attention. You too, Abby, hold his hand and try to keep it steady. He's not going to sleep through this."

Then, to Abigail's concern, an unpleasant grin found its way onto Chopper's face. "Kyle, Rathley? Casey? Hold him down."

And as soon as Rathley had trapped the man's arm in his own, Chopper drove the cleaver forward into the man's flesh. Abigail could barely believe what she was seeing, or hearing. Chopper brought the blade back, and then forward again, slicing through the man's bicep like it was a freshly pulled potato. The slaver screamed as well - of course he screamed, even half-dead and delirious he could not remain unconscious - but Abigail had never had to sit there and listen to pain so close at hand before. This man was screaming for his life, screaming for darkness to overtake him again as Chopper's blade bit down into his bone, grinding to a halt.

Chopper was talking as she went, instructing Sharn as to why so much of his arm had to be removed, and how to check the toxicity of his blood by its colour, smell and consistency, but none of it registered. All she could feel was the pull of the man's arm in her hands, flexing in agony.

Chopper made quick change to the bone saw and took another stroke forward, as if sawing copper pipe, before a loud, visceral *SNAP* shook his whole body. The slaver's scream cut out and he gagged on the back of this own throat in shock. Casey recoiled simultaneously, her hands flying into the air as she recoiled from the body that had convulsed in time with that breaking of bone.

"Aaah! Oh, GOD! Ewwww! Oh god that's so *nasty*!"

As soon as she let go the man's leg flew up, kicking out impotently into the air.

"Casey! Hold him!" Chopper shouted over the gagging screams. "Haven't you ever butchered your own meat before?!"

"But he *cracked*." Casey grimaced, wrestling the leg back under control. "Ewwwwwww."

Two last strokes with the knife and Chopper was down to the wood. And she had smiled with that same grim satisfaction the entire time. Even more so when she had finally made it through the bone.

"You can let go, Abby. It's just dead meat."

Abigail looked down at the hand she held, and realised it was no longer connected to the man that screamed in the hands of the others. Even though it still twitched in her fingers. In an instant she released it, and fought down the urge to throw up over herself.

We just saved his life, she forced herself to think, blocking out the feeling of those fingers or the vicarious pull of the saw. We just saved his life, we just saved his life.

And she could only watch in sickened fascination as Sharn and Chopper wrestled with the man's bleeding stump, stemming the huge gouts of blood so that Chopper could sew up the arteries and blood vessels that now led nowhere.

Wasn't Chopper going to use a stimpak to help stop the bleeding or numb the man's pain? Was the cost of them worth putting up with his weak, fevered screams? And Copper she really taken such satisfaction in dismembering him, even if it was to save his life?

But then, soaked in blood and feeling both tense and nauseous, Abigail realised that she had forgotten something very important. The thing that had first led her to respect Chopper for who she was, and not just because she had saved her life in the desert.

Chopper was a maverick. She was willing to risk killing a man if it gave him even the slightest chance of survival beyond his ailment. Some even reviled her because she would try to save those with no other hope, and would be blamed for failing when no other doctor, whatever their reason, would even try.

And she was rightly proud of it.

***

The decision then was how best to hunt down the nest from there. The blood trails that the slaver had left behind vanished soon after he had bled over the windowsill at the back of the shop, probably doing his best *not* to leave a trail for the arachnids to follow until that point.

And they had the man himself to take care of, but Chopper had given them all an un-amused stare when the subject had come up. "*You* go play with the bugs, I'll do *my* job here. I doubt you'll miss the extra gun. As if it would help."

She didn't sound particularly self-deprecating about it either, despite her choice of words, so the rest of them let her dodge the hunt since she had obviously been looking for just this excuse not to go.

"It shouldn't take long from here," Kyle explained, for Abigail and Sharn's sakes. "One of these things wouldn't be out far from the nest alone. Definitely not during the day. The fact that they haven't come down on us already after that racket means they're not up and about with their brother there either."

"We stick together and search each building in turn," Rathley said, deciding for them. "Then we check the sewers if we have to. Don't want a nest swarming a smaller team, so no splitting up. You're looking for basements or back rooms if we get to the larger buildings. Somewhere dark and private."

There weren't many such places either. Most of the shops and homes in the vicinity were single story and uncomplicated, being outside the main knot of the ruined city centre. When they did find a cellar or an old meat locker Kyle and Rathley co-ordinated them like a trained strike force, rather than the cavalier and haphazard fights Abigail had taken part in with them so far.

The same was true as they went down the stairs into the basement stockroom of an old toy shop. With the stairway only wide enough for one Rathley was crouched at the front with this shotgun levelled at the floor below. Behind him Kyle had a pistol drawn over the older man's shoulder, knowing what to look for and without an unwieldy weapon to interfere with their combined retreat if need be. At the top Sharn had her rifle aimed over them both, ready to take the first shot if anything moved below them.

Abigail and Casey waited for the all clear. There wasn't room to make use of them and their less reliable aims in that tight stairway except to guard the rear.

But the way down at least was clear, and in the settled dust at the bottom they saw the wide caterpillar tracks that Rathley had told them to look for all morning. Radscorpion tracks.

Kyle whispered for the girls to follow, and remain silent. The corridor at the bottom turned fright from the stairs, an open door on each side at its far end. The tracks led from both.

"Kyle, take the back room. Case, you keep 'em away from Sharn, Sugar. Abby, you an' me are takin' the front."

Abigail felt as though she was taking part in a spy drama, or a dream like the one she faintly remembered from Micasa. It was Special Agent Abigail all over again as Rathley had her line up behind him, her new, powerful gun in her hands.

"Go!"

On that signal both Rathley and Kyle leapt around the corner and into their rooms, and the two groups were on their own.

However, while Kyle and then Sharn and Casey began firing immediately, Rathley had paused to take in the room and Abigail did the same. Dry brittle crates of dry, brittle toys lay about in heaps, covered with a century of dust and decayed cardboard.

And at the back their prey rose, stirred by the others' gunshots. Two Radcorpions scuttled around to face them, and immediately hissed and charged, but left behind them the third member of their brood got slowly to her feet. She was not larger, but weighed down with the white, writhing infants that clung to her back. At least seven, if not more.

"Looks like we got here just in time," Rathey quipped, and he punctuated it with the boom of his shotgun. "Focus on that one! Drive it back!"

That sounded like a fool's move to Abigail, but Rathley was the expert and she had to trust that he knew what he was doing. She ignored the other Radscorpion that swiftly closed the gap, and instead fired three rounds at its partner. Each time she pulled the trigger the hard recoil pulled off her aim for the next, but while only her first bullet hit its target, the third shot flew past it and into the laden mother that had joined the chase. Her magnum powered round punched through one of the young and into the mother Radscorpion's back. The pale, weakly armoured Radscorpling fell limply from its mother's body, a huge hole torn through it.

"Eh, whatever works," Rathley snarled, putting another round of buckshot into the now punctured and oozing beast between them and the mother.

It was only after that shot that Abigail realised what Rathley had intended. His shotgun shell had not stopped it advancing. It had hesitated a moment but kept coming at them, into their fire. Only her following shot, and another shot from Rathley, had done damage significant enough for its self preservation instinct to take over from the instinct to attack and feed.

Abigail tried to compose herself, now acutely aware that she had only two rounds left in her gun's chamber, but now the second un-laden arachnid had reached them, and it lashed out with its claws and tail.

Rathley was not to be outdone and knew exactly how to handle the creature that was now right on top of him. He leapt back a few steps, cocking his weapon again, and when he landed he was perfectly poised to unload the shell point-blank into the Radscorpions face.

Abigail, fuelled by adrenaline and still riding her Buffout, had to admire his skill. So that was how it was done. She was not about to get dispirited by her own lack of ammunition either, and while the Radscorpion tried to step closer to Rathley again she put her last two .38 Specials into the creature's tough carapace. At that distance it was no effort at all for the over powered bullets to punch through.

And that was her ammunition gone. Somehow she had expected it to carry her further than that, but if her knives were all she had left now then those where what she would use.

It didn't matter as much now either, as Rathley still had two of his own six shells left, and one of those finally overpowered the giant arachnid and sent its limp body sliding back across the dusty floor.

That just left the mother. And her babies.

Rathley cocked his shotgun one more time, and paused. Abigail wanted to advance, but she didn't have the distraction to get behind the creature this time. Instead she hesitated with him, waiting for instruction.

"If you have to use that take the little ones," Rathley said, eyeing her drawn knife. "They're still soft." He reached into his pocket, giving up the chance to advance into the wider part of the room to load another two shells into his gun. "Leave Mom to me."

That was a plan Abigail could deal with, and they had wasted enough time already. The mother Radscorpion had closed most of the distance between them, and now that she was close her pale children were swarming from her back to cover the floor. Though vulnerable, they were just as aggressive as their parent.

Abigail dashed a knife into the one that still remained contrasted against its mother's hide and it let out a fractured hiss as the knife pinned it to her. Rathley ignored the young advancing on him in favour of shooting the mother, and Abigail threw another knife into those that threatened him. However, one thrown knife will not kill two infant Radscorpions, and before she could make another throw the mother had come between her and her retreating partner.

Abigail swore, but turned to focus on what she *could* do. She tossed her knives in quick succession, either killing or maiming the young that had come after her, until she was down to her final blade. She had thought it would be an easy matter to stab the last two, but they were nimble creatures and while she managed to avoid getting stung her patched up hand was bleeding again from their small pincers before she had killed them both.

It also took that long for Rathley to kill the last adult, and Abigail pulled the dead creature back so that she could get at the door again and see what damage, if any, had been done.

Rathley looked remarkable unperturbed. His trousers were torn and he was favouring one leg, but he had killed the mother and the last infant that had been harassing him. He had trodden it to death. Taking a closer look Abigail could see that his new limp did not come from a large claw wound though, but from several small punctures in his shin. The infant had not been stamped out of existence without a fight, and had stung him repeatedly for his trouble.

Neither of them could pause to celebrate or treat Rathley's wound either. The battle was still going in the back room, and Sharn's scream brought them both running, Abigail leaving her knives behind in her haste.

Four more Radscorpion carcasses littered the floor between the shelves there and Kyle, Sharn and Casey stood crowded around a fifth and final one. Casey, was laying into its tail with her golf club, her gun abandoned, while Kyle hurriedly reloaded one of his pistols. The obvious reason for his haste was Sharn, her right thigh caught and bleeding between the creature's claws.

But while trapped and in pain, she was not helpless. Her rifle was already pointed at her attacker, and one point blank rifle round into the creature's braincase caused its claws to go slack and put it out of the fight forever.

Abigail ran to her ailing friend. "Sharn, are you okay?!"

Sharn nodded, breathless as she looked down at the dead animal. "I think so. They're, uh, faster than they look. And stronger."

"Sia, let me look at that leg," Kyle said, all business, and with her taken care of Abigail turned to the other two to see if they were okay. Kyle seemed unhurt, though his hard leathers might have had something to do with that, but Casey was sporting an angry red scratch down her bare midriff, which had torn the bottom of her vest.

"Casey, it got you?!"

Casey just grinned sheepishly, but it was obvious that the meagre injury was hurting her. "Yeah, a bit. You think your girlfriend has any of that anti-venom left? It didn't get its stinger in me properly, but it's kinda starting to burn."

"You and me both, Sugar," Rathley said with a grin, limping back to the door. "If you slackers are done down here, let's get the fuck back."

"They *got* you, old man?" That evidently came as a surprise to Kyle.

"Eh, this is nothin'. A fuckin' rugrat had a go while I was blowin' Mom's head off."

Sharn scowled at him. "You mean 'yes'. Asshole."

***

Rathley, Sharn and Casey returned ahead, eager for some medical attention and confident enough in their success to let Abigail and Kyle finish scouting for more Radscorpions.

Kyle didn't expect to find any, and after another half-hour of searching the area he was happy to have been proven right. Still, it had been worth the effort to make sure no stragglers remained.

And it had given Abigail time to think. She was not only starting to get used to combat, and somewhat used to the blood that came with it, but she was beginning to *think* at the same time as well. Up until now she had always put all her mental effort into the fight, remaining alert and tensed for action that might save her life. Now she had plotted as she had resumed the last of their reconnaissance.

She had a plan.

But before that came the welfare of her friends. Casey looked uncomfortable with her angry stinger scratch, but Chopper had treated the 'injury' with distain.

"You couldn't even get stung properly?" had been her first, insensitive question. Unfair, in Abigail's opinion.

"Well I didn't want to get it stuck through my heart!" Casey came back. It didn't make Chopper think any more of her, but unlike Sharn and Rathley the thin young woman *had* been able to get out of the way, barely. She didn't even need a shot of anti-venom, apparently. A wipe over with a root-medicine covered cloth was all Chopper would give her. It numbed the burning a little, and would clean the wound enough to let it heal on its own.

"Just treat it as a Radscorpion booster shot!"

Sharn fared far less well. Radscorpion claws were meant for gripping prey, not cutting, but in their struggle the inside of its pincer had torn open her thigh, leaving a very bloody laceration. That Chopper did take seriously. Enough to 'waste' a stimpac and a few stitches of thread on her instead of simply bandaging the wound.

And Abigail had never seen Sharn cry before. Or seen her after she had obviously been crying, as was the case when she and Kyle actually got there. Sharn was a strong woman. That gash must have hurt far worse than any of them had given credit for. It was certainly larger than it had looked through her torn trouser leg. Abigail would have hugged her if Kyle had not got there first.

Then Rathley, in obvious pain but grinning through it as if it was a status symbol. Chopper had pulled the leg of his trousers up to reveal an already swelling calf, sporting four angry red puncture marks. Enough to warrant a shot of anti-venom from a very old, red bottle. Again, the serum was probably something of Chopper's own devising, but both she and Rathley looked confident that it would work.

There was, of course, a fourth casualty, now lying awake on the bed and with his makeshift operating table cast aside. The one armed slaver looked out of it, but he was now conscious. Apparently Chopper had gone back to working on him as soon as they had left for their hunt.

Cable was a young man, physically fit and probably quite alert when he had his wits about him. His speciality was exploring ruins, coming from many years of living in Willets High, but that had earned him a relatively isolated adult life, and even he had not been prepared to deal with creatures like Radscorpions en mass, never having even seen one before. He could rappel down a destroyed skyscraper as if it was child's play, hence his name, but he and his team had underestimated the arachnids.

But he was alive, and he was thankful for that. Even more so that his rescuers were willing to help him back to the town.

And if he had underestimated the Radscorpions, they had *all* underestimated Abigail, walking at the back and making idle conversation with Casey.

Rathley led them back to the town the short way, limping slightly, but he made sure to take them through the heart of it on the way to the old school. Abigail guessed they made for quite a sight; two limping scavs, one with her pants drenched in blood and the other limping and with a Radscorpion tail slung over his shoulder, and the rest of them either helping those two along or escorting a man that every resident would have known. Cable didn't go on 'outside operations' - slaving runs to Abigail and company. The city was where he was best and so that's where he worked, as one of the Dean's town guards. Now he was being brought home and was missing an arm for his troubles.

The rumour mill started almost immediately. Yes, there had been Radscorpions infesting the old city. But they were gone now, as were the team the Dean had sent in to deal with them. Unprepared and under-trained to boot. "Cable owed his life to *that* Chopper?!... I thought Rathley had retired... No, I heard he'd been shot already!... Man, you can't shoot someone like that and kill him!... Oh man, *that's* the chick who killed the Hearts' Super Mutant?!... I thought she'd be taller... Man, she must have wiped the floor fighting Radscorpions!... She didn't even take a hit!... Neither did that guy, look... What a hunk! Who is he?"

The attention was... nice. Even if Abigail bristled a little at the 'short' comments, they knew who she was. They were talking about her like she was someone important! In this vast desert full of people who blurred together in their toil and routine, looking for figureheads and direction, she was *someone*. The smile on her face was a broad one. You couldn't buy confidence like that, even in little green pills.

They arrived at the school with a crowd following behind, and the huge man at the door had already called for the Dean by the time they reached him.

"Cable!" The guard blurted as soon as he saw the cause of the commotion. "Jesus, Cable, what the hell happened to *you*?!"

"I'd have thought that looked fairly obvious," Sharn said from the front, the dulled pain in her leg giving her smile a sharp edge. "Suffice it to say, we've been cleaning up out there a little, and found something of yours."

The Dean smiled warmly at them all, and especially at Cable himself. "For which I must thank you, Chopper and... Shaan? We have dropped a ball that we - I - was not willing to part with." His voice fell to a sad sigh. "Were there no other survivors?"

They allowed Cable to answer. "No, sir. Those things, they were fast, but they were *smart* too. We never knew what hit us."

The Dean nodded. "Yes. Well, welcome home, Cable. And for your rescuers..."

Sharn had been ready to negotiate, and Rathley and Chopper had obviously been looking forward to watching her rub in their success, but Abigail silenced them all with the soft click of her revolver's hammer.

"I'm afraid it isn't quit that simple, Mr Principle."

Abigail stepped to the front of the group, the barrel of her gun pressing into the nape of Cable's neck. Gasps and fresh, louder voices flew from the crowd, but Abigail forced herself to ignore them.

"You see, as stupid as they might be, I think it's rude not to follow surface town customs. Which is a shame, because you lost a lot of property recently. Still, it's better than losing family I suppose."

Sharn looked at her in shock. "Abby," she hissed, "what are you doing?"

Casey started to ask, "Uh, when did you..."

But behind her someone stopped them both. Probably Rathley, or Chopper. Privately, Abigail was grateful for that. This was *her* scenario, and she wanted to feed these slavers some of their own poison. With the worried ripples going through the crowd she needed all the support she could get to go through with it. Despite the armed guards Willets High was a peaceful town, unused to real violence.

The Dean's mournful look vanished, to be replaced with anger. "I... see. You did not pay much attention last time you were here. *Everyone* here is family."

"That wasn't what I heard from Mr Pearcing. You sold his wife, and left him in a cell to grieve."

The Dean's anger faded slightly. "Yes. We stole them away. And we have taken those with much less need for relocation. But arguing business and morals is pointless, Miss..."

"Iseley."

"Miss Iseley. You have found and rescued one of my men. I would like him returned to us. I suppose, since he is now in your possession, you wish to barter."

Abigail nodded, tense inside but smiling outwardly. "Of course. As you say, it's just business."

"Then I will arrange a viewing. Given what we owe you now you will have an excellent choice, Miss Iseley. Please, come inside."

The Dean turned and slowly marched inside. Abigail actually felt a little sorry for him, despite the 'business' he was in. He wasn't even fighting it.

"Abby-girl, what the hell was that?" Sharn whispered out of earshot as they followed. "You didn't even load your gun!"

"That's what I was going to say!" Casey added. "That was a *major* bluff, Abby."

"And there goes our reward," Rathley said, far too loudly. "You had best not make a habit of this." But from the amused look on his face it must have been entertainment enough for him to let it go this once. And they were all very well off still, in wastelander terms. They could afford to make the statement.

Abigail's statement. She would 'waste' her reward to buy someone their freedom, simply because she could.

And it felt fantastic!

***

To be continued...

***

And this was supposed to be a short chapter! Heh, that's how it goes.

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2009


	14. Lives of Omission

After the Vault: Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 14

Lives of Omission

"Make up your mind, hon. We don't want to be standing around here all night."

Chopper was right. They had been standing in the slavers' yard for Abigail didn't know how long. Ten minutes? Twenty? An hour? Rathley had long since sat down on the tarmac to take the weight off his inflamed leg, and the longer they waited the larger the creeping bloodstain on Sharn's bandaged thigh became. Abigail's heady air of triumph had wavered after the first few minutes of staring at the line-up in front of her, and the annoyed or cautious slavers at their backs now wore boredom and amusement on their faces.

But when it came down to the wire, how could she choose only one of these thirty two men and women to save?

Who deserved their freedom most? Who had suffered most? Who *would* suffer most if she didn't choose them?

Abigail had never had to make a more agonising decision in her life, and she'd talked herself up so much that she could not rely on her friends to make up her mind for her.

"If you want *my* advice," drawled Rathley, "the brunette up that end. You seen her with the ball? That one has *stamina*."

"Shut up, Rathley," Abigail whispered, but whether he would be able to hear her was a moot point. She only said it to clear her head. She should have thought this part through better when she had insisted on trading Cable for a slave.

The damage was done though, and Rathley had put another candidate into her head. The woman he'd pointed to was rugged and fit, despite the trace of malnutrition that showed in most of the slaves' faces. She was also pretty, almost. That could only bode poorly for her when she was bought, Abigail thought.

But then there were men and women younger than her, obviously newer to the place and still with the eager eyes that said, 'not her, pick me!' They had long lives ahead of them, hopefully, and they could still be spared the resignation that had sunk into so many of their fellow inmates.

Then there were the older ones. At fifty or sixty years they did not look bad for their ages as far as surfacers went, but did they need to spend the last of their lives there? Or trying to live with their new 'owners', who would surely expect more from them than they could deliver?

Heroes in the movies never had this problem, Abigail growled internally. But then they would have wound up assaulting the slavers and wading out victorious over a mountain of corpses. Abigail couldn't do that. Hell, the slavers were the town police as well! That she had thought about, at length, since she had arrived. It was a wonderful town, built on kidnapping and the trading of these slaves. How the hell did that work?

Then there were the fifteen or more slaves that watched her indecision from the school building. They were the ones worth even more than the return of Cable. She couldn't help them, no matter how much she wanted to.

So focus on those you can help, she chastised herself. Get *someone* out.

With a deep breath she pointed to a man in the middle of the line. He stood favouring one leg, and beneath a battered pair of shoes his right foot was heavily bandaged. Abigail had wrapped the dressing herself. "Him. I want Alan."

"... Very well. He is yours." The surprise in the Dean's voice was plain, and he wasn't the only one. Rathley, Sharn and Casey all looked shocked by the decision. Only Kyle seemed to accept her decision without question, and by that point Chopper had stopped caring. "You'll find him a competent one, despite his recent accident," the Dean added, as if he was validating her choice. "And steadfast, if somewhat headstrong with it. But then you know that well enough."

Casey came over to Abigail's side as the line was shepherded back into the school building, leaving Alan standing bemused as fellow slaves either wished him luck or cursed his good fortune.

"So... why'd you pick him?" Casey asked, and Alan came to his senses as he heard her question Abigail's choice.

"Yes, why me? At... At least take one of the girls!"

Abigail felt the guilt set in immediately, but she had made her decision. She would have felt the same no matter who she had chosen, of that she was sure. "You've been here long enough already, haven't you? And with that foot... Chopper says you'll probably always have a limp. If I don't choose you, you might never get out of here." She pointed to the women who were guided back inside. "At least they'll be taken care of while there's here, right? They'll try and sell them on their looks, not just how fit they are, right?"

Abigail doubted what she was saying, but she had been told it by Alan himself. "Like you said, they don't get mistreated or anything here, do they?"

Alan looked down to the cracked tarmac, and his wounded foot. "No. No, I guess they don't."

It was past the time for food when they got back to the hotel. Somewhere between getting back to town and finishing up at the school it had started to get dark, but the 3rd Rafter's cook was more than happy to heat up his griddle again for their sake. Word had already spread all over town about their deeds, so not only was the welcome warm, but the food was free as well. Apparently it was worth his while giving them a free meal as thanks, in order to have them eating there where people could see them.

"Where's David and Katina?" Abigail asked Casey as they all ate. "Aren't they going to welcome you back, at least?"

"Eh heh, I doubt it." Casey shrugged, looking rather sheepish. "We're supposed to be keeping a low profile, kinda. That why we came *here*, to Willets." She nodded to the few bystanders who watched them eat. Every now one of them would come over to congratulate or thank them. "I don't think this is low enough for David's taste, never mind Kat."

"Shouldn't you be thinkin' about what you're gonna do with your new slave," Rathley rasped from the other end of the stall table. "Though I gotta say, tradin' a cripple for a cripple... Cute, but you ain't got as good taste as I gave you credit for."

Next to him Chopper shrugged, still chewing. "Well, it has symmetry, at least."

Abigail scowled at the both of them. They knew the score, and they were just trying to wind up both her and the poor man who sat to her right. Alan had remained quiet on the way back to the hotel, still in something of a daze, and he had sat looking at his food for over a minute before he had thought to start eating it.

"That is a point," said Alan, not looking up from his ant burger. "I don't know how much I can do for you. Especially with this foot."

Evidently he was having trouble accepting his new freedom. "That's not why you're here," said Abigail. "I told you, I don't want a slave. What you can do is start doing whatever you want. Start living your life again."

Alan still looked doubtful as he looked at her with confused eyes. "I've been in there for... almost ten years, I think. My wife is gone, I buried my babies so long ago. How do I start over from here?"

"I don't know," Abigail said honestly. "But I hope you'll try."

On her other side Casey left her to her thoughts, and scratched at the red line on her stomach again. "Man, after today, I *really* need a bath! Maybe that'll help."

"Maybe," said Chopper, "but it'll wash off what's left of the anti-venom."

When Casey gave her a worried look Chopper smirked. "You won't keel over or anything, just don't expect it to stop stinging until tomorrow if you go to bed clean."

"Ugh. That's not a nice option."

Kyle didn't think it sounded so bad. "I could be worse. You could have been stupid enough to let a swarm of 'scorplings have a proper go at your legs."

Rathley stared at him. "Screw you, boy. I won't need any fancy medicine to sleep tonight."

"No, but that bottle of Rotgut won't last long, will it?"

After they had eaten and Abigail had bid Casey farewell for the night Abigail did not send Alan on his way. Instead she led him to the room she shared with Chopper, and unlocked the metal trunk that held their travelling packs. After a moment she came over with a bulky looking bag.

"Here," she said, loosening the drawstring and pouring a slow stream of bottle caps onto the bed. "This should pay for a place to stay, and food. At least until you find a paying job."

Alan looked on in shock as she began to count them. "I... I can't take that. You've already..."

"You can, and you will, Mr Pearcing. I'd rather they were used for something worthwhile than sitting here in my bag. And what's the point of money if you can't spend it on what you want?"

After she'd done some quick counting she closed the bag again and gave it a shake. "It won't be missed."

"Aren't you afraid someone will break in here and steal that?"

Abigail gave him a knowing look. "I checked. This hotel has a good reputation, the room is locked, and so is the locker." She patted it and it replied with a few solid sounding 'thunks'. "But I do have it on good authority that three hundred caps is an amount worth taking."

She scooped them up and into another smaller bag. "So please, put it to good use. There's just one thing."

"W-what?"

"I'd be happier knowing that you're alive and well because of this. Okay?"

"Yes, I know. Thank you."

Abigail was already getting ready for bed by the time Chopper appeared. That was no surprise. Both Sharn and Rathley had injuries that needed tending to, whether they wanted the attention or not, and before that they'd all had their turns fighting over who got to use the hotel's single bathtub first.

Not that it could have been called fighting, really. Kyle was the only one whose opinions of hygiene even came close to Abigail's own, and Rathley might not have bothered at all if it hadn't been for the thin streaks of blood drying over his leg.

Abigail had finally taken the time to wash her hair again, and it hung loose over her shoulder instead of in her usual metre long plait. She stood in front of the dresser mirror brushing it through as best she could now that it was clean again, but even back home - or back in Vault 42 anyway - it had still been a labour of love.

"So how did the good Samaritan thing work out for you?" Chopper asked when she did finally appear through the door, damp from her late, lukewarm bath.

"It was fine, Chopper. It's my money."

Chopper shrugged. "Better keep an eye on it. It might turn into a bad habit." Evidently she hadn't taken the time to come out of her prickly shell while in the tub.

Abigail turned to frown at her. "I would have called it a good habit!"

Abigail's mild ire evaporated when she saw the amused smile on Chopper's face though. Chopper just wanted to bait her, and the older woman sauntered over after having thrown her towel over one of the room's chairs. "You know," she said, hanging her arms over Abigail's shoulders, "I think little Miss Hero might be tired."

Abigail could only sigh in exasperation. "You can stop now. Yes, I'm tired. My feet are sore, my hand hurts, and you're mocking be for doing something good for someone in need."

Chopper's impish smile didn't change, but she did raise an eyebrow. "Then why don't you stop fussing with your hair and come to bed." She pulled Abigail's hair back over the girl's shoulder before running her fingers through it. At least they didn't catch, to Abigail's gratification. "I can fuss over you just as well."

"Chopper, please. I really am tired, okay?"

Her lover didn't seem the slightest bit perturbed. "You think I'm not? A Radscorpion nest, dying slavers, and that lot getting cut up during the fight? I damned well earned my bodyguards today. But," she leaned down to kiss Abigail's right cheek, "that doesn't mean I want to sleep without you here. And you?"

Abigail smiled, warmth filling her cheeks. "Okay, me neither."

"That's what I wanted to hear."

Thankfully for Sharn her leg did not take long to heal in the days that followed. Chopper did good work, and while it would leave another scar it did not give her as much discomfort as she had feared in the process. Scars did not worry her - they gave life and history to a body - but she wasn't much of a one for pain, even compared to Abigail. It was lucky that she'd had her man to wait on her while she convalesced in bed.

It was lucky that she *still* had him, and that he was still willing to dote on her when she needed it most. They'd fought before, but nothing like that last week. Jealousy had never been so mixed with resentment, and she was willing to bet that Kyle had come very close to thinking that, back then, their relationship had not been worth the aggravation.

In retrospect it was a little frightening. She had never been shy about her affections, physical or otherwise, and yet she had been willing to trade blows with him over a past that she had known nothing about. Abigail had been right, is shouldn't have mattered really, but it had.

It had not been without reason of course. There would have been little he could have told her that she couldn't accept, no matter how disapproving or jealous she might have been. It had been arrogant to think she did not need to know the truth, as if she had not been able to understand it. Kyle had joined up with a man like Rathley, after all. For all his personal merits, he could hardly be a saint.

And he wasn't. He was a gunfighter and a con-artist, and he had been long before he had ever met Rathley, let alone herself. He had been taught to shoot by the best guardsmen in Micasa, and trained to handle a deck of cards or a fistful of dice by over a dozen different gamblers in that town of caps and casinos. Half of whom he later set up on behalf of the town guard, or simply shot for one reason or another.

In fact he had got so good at cheating in poker that he could finance his final year's visits to River almost entirely outside his job as one of the town's hired guns. Only his judicious choice of games and opponents ever stopped him getting caught by anyone who cared.

Of course, River was the one point of Kyle's admissions that Sharn still had trouble digesting. To Sharn, even after their fights, love was a strong, binding thing. It swept her along, attached to her gunner-man whether she liked him at the time or not, because it guaranteed that beneath all their superficial differences it bound them together so tightly that only death would separate them. She would *always* love him, even when she couldn't stand him!

But he'd already felt that love for someone else, long before he'd even known she had existed. His perfect love had been with a prostitute ten years his senior, and he had been determined to remain faithful to her, and ensure that one day she could be his alone. And he'd failed. He'd signed on to Rathley's team to earn the caps to free her, but in reality it was never going to happen. Maybe River had known that all along, but had held out hope that either Kyle or her owner could have worked a miracle for her. Or maybe she had shared his naivete, and believed that he could do it just as much as he had. Either way, eventually the situation had become too strained to continue like that, and Kyle had put his feelings behind him in order to carry on with his life, leaving his love in the hands of the man who owned her.

So what did that make Sharn? Was she the naive one, with unpleasant lessons awaiting her down the road? Was she immature in Kyle's eyes, gushing her affection at him when his own heart had been tempered by love and loss already? That was what preyed on her mind now. River was a part of Kyle's past, and while she did not like the idea she could accept it. It had helped make him into who he was now.

Sharn had to be the best for Kyle though. The one he loved *now*. She could not just be a good lay, a fling, or a happy distraction from the women of his past. He needed to love her, because Sharn knew she could not stop loving him even if he didn't.

He did, she was sure of that, but there was now that one lingering doubt. That one whisper that forced her to compare herself to the woman he had been so devoted to. The hateful curse of the 'what if' that shattered her carefree confidence in herself.

She tried to put it out of her mind, and focus on the here and now. She did love Kyle, and he loved her, and they had got past the veil of secrets that had driven that wedge between them. There was time to think about it later. After all, there was a fair bit to think about!

"Say, what has Abigail been doing? She didn't come to see me much while I was laid up."

Kyle shrugged. "She's been with Casey's group a lot. And at the gun shop I think."

That surprised Sharn. "The gun shop? That doesn't seem like her. She doesn't know the difference between a hollow point and full metal jacket."

"Exactly. I think she's trying to show willing. She'll be better off if she knows the basics, at least."

"I guess." She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. "I love you, you know."

Kyle chuckled. "So you keep telling me, hon."

"I'm just reminding you. You know, in case you'd forgotten in the last half hour."

Like Sharn, Rathley was still healing up while Abigail split her free time between her new friends, the gun shop, and the arrogant surgeon she called 'girlfriend'. Unlike Sharn though Rathley hadn't been able - or willing - to lie back and let his body mend, with or without Chopper's help.

And it was without, if he could help it. Which he could. This time.

He had been stung by enough Radscorpions to know when his life was in jeopardy, and for all their efforts the Radscorplings hadn't even come close. It'd hurt for a good few days - far more than his pride or his reputation would allow his to show - but he hadn't let that keep him in bed. Given enough booze he could endure almost anything, and getting to play hero had made sure that he hadn't wanted for the alcohol or the company to keep his mind off his swollen leg.

And he could afford both anyway, not that he had to! Life could be damn good, and in some really fucked up ways sometimes, he thought. There he was in the bed of a very voluptuous host, being fed like a wasteland king, all for putting a few rounds of buckshot into a couple of oversized arachnids. And *she* couldn't believe *her* luck either, catching the eye of one of the mid-waste's premiere bad boys and leading him home like a brahmin to water. In her little Willets High circle she was the one who had managed to claim the prize.

She'd also been please to find out that he was just as good a lover as he was reputed to be: both boisterous and skilled. He hadn't looked it when she'd chanced upon him at the bar with half a bottle of liquor in him.

Rathley also avoided comparison with Sharn in that any care he'd had for his companions whereabouts had been as soothed by the sex and the liquor as his leg had. As long as they weren't getting into more trouble, he simply didn't care. In his mind it was time that this rest stop started working as advertised. Kyle could be trusted to take care of himself, and he could keep Sharn in line and mollified now that they'd made a peace and were fucking like animals again. That girl was insatiable when she got her engines going, lucky sod.

As for Chopper, she would do what she wanted, when she wanted, and no-one would have the balls to tell her otherwise. Not that she'd take a blind bit of notice if they did. She didn't know *how* to relax, but it was clear that the best way to handle her was to let her handle herself. She was at least sensible enough not stick her neck out so far as to let someone take a blade to it.

And Abigail... Despite his own opinions of himself, he did hope that she wasn't making yet *more* trouble for herself. She had potential - at least as much as Kyle had shown when Rathley had first let him sign on - but unlike Kyle she couldn't see the snares around her feet because her head was still so high in the clouds. Thankfully Chopper and Kyle were proving a good influence on her, and she'd started learning from her mistakes.

And frankly, Rathley was just too damned satisfied with his current situation to bother checking up on her. His drinks were stong, his stomach was full, and his woman was attentive and amorous. It was as comfortable a distraction as Rathley could have asked for.

He hadn't had to ask.

Abigail did manage to keep herself out of trouble in the weeks that followed. It probably had something to do with Rathley not having a high enough opinion of her, Abigail thought. Being treated like the hero she had tried to be certainly helped as well. She had caused a fuss with the Dean, and that was never good, but bucking authority like that always brought out the rebellious side of any audience, especially when you got away with it. They didn't know that her victory had become a bit of a fiasco when the time had come to claim her reward. All they knew was that she had helped save the town, and given a man a chance to reclaim what the wasteland - and, in surreptitious tones, the Dean - had taken from him.

She did spend quite a lot of time either with the town gunsmith or with her nose in her medical books, trying to fight her way through incomprehensible calibres and treatments for all manner of physical wounds. It was slow going, but by the end of it she did know how to clean her own pistol, and properly treat a bullet wound should she ever have to. In theory at least.

She also poked her nose into the town's water reclamation system, and spent the idle part of three days cleaning or replacing it piece by piece. They were reliant on traders for a good proportion of the town's water, but both ground water and bought supplies were filtered for contaminants and radiation by the pump stations, and then portioned back out for those who needed or had purchased it. It felt worthwhile making sure the system was working and in good repair, even if 95 percent of all the water they bought in was already as clean as it could be made. She had made sure that the last five percent would not come back to haunt them.

Unfortunately it was not quite the bed of roses that it could have been though. Day by day there had always been plenty to do on the road. Lots to worry about, and the occasional few days respite was a welcome chance for her to crash out and recover. But three weeks of downtime had made her edgy. Anxious. She had sought out work and study not just to help further herself, but to make sure she remained occupied.

She hadn't wanted to admit it before, and in the past she had always had a good excuse, but by the fourth day of idle relaxation she had been ready to weep with frustration. She'd hidden it well, but the tension and irritability had been overwhelming, and with it such a lack of energy that she'd felt incompetent to vent her unwarranted frustrations.

So she'd taken another pill. There had been no reason to, and no excuse. She had just needed the Buffout to take the tension and the helplessness away.

So, she was addicted to them. She just had to accept it. She didn't *want* to, but she had no choice. She'd tried to find a way to rationalise it - stress, culture shock, being useful to her allies in a fight - none of that held up now. She had no good reasons to keep taking the pale green combat drugs, except simple physical need.

So she'd kept herself busy in order to distract herself from the sense of weakness, and kept other people around her so she couldn't sneak off to exorcise those enervating cravings. And it had done some good, at least. She hadn't been able to stop taking the pills, but she'd managed to stretch it out as long as she could before each one. Five pills in three weeks wasn't bad, she hoped. Had she not caved in and surrendered to the fifth she probably would have broken down and vomited, the paranoia had been so strong.

She had not dared to tell the others. Sharn would be sympathetic and as helpful as she could be, she was sure. Kyle as well, she hoped. But Rathley would hardly care, and when the cravings became severe she needed *some* way to bolster her waning confidence. Rathley's indifference or amusement wouldn't do that.

And Chopper. The anger and derision she could be guaranteed from her was the last think Abigail would be able to handle by that point. The one person whose support she would crave was the last one who would give it to her.

However, despite all that, Abigail had not let the realisation keep her depressed. If she was anything, it was wilful. Rathley and Chopper didn't seem to tire of saying as much, and Abigail was damned well *going* to be wilful! If she could overcome it herself, then none of them would ever need to know that she had been weak enough to fall victim to the Buffout in the first place. She was bettering herself in order to make a difference to the Mid-Waste, and to Chopper and Sharn and Kyle and Casey. She could be a damned good technician, she could defend herself with force, and she was going to make sure that if the worst did happen then her hands could save anyone that her knives and her gun couldn't protect.

She knew that wasn't just the Buffout talking either. She hadn't taken one for three days.

"You're leaving?"

Casey nodded not touching her drink. The pair of them sat at a small table in Em's, and the bar was mostly deserted so early in the afternoon. Everyone else had work to be doing then, or were still happily digesting their lunch. As such Abigail's voice sounded louder to her than she had intended.

"Yeah," Casey confirmed. She shrugged, but she didn't exactly seem happy about it either. Or maybe she just hadn't been wanting to tell Abigail. The two of them had become fast friends in such a short time.

"Kat says it's time we got a move on. We were just supposed to stay here to throw them off our trail. If we stay too long eventually someone will be systematic enough to find this place. We can't let that happen."

"You still haven't said who it is who's after you," Abigail pointed out. "Maybe we can help."

Casey shook her head. "We take out one of these gangers, and two more find the body or hear about the fight and then *they* are that bit closer to tracking us down. It's not just one or two guys, Abby. It's a whole whacked-out city."

"And you left two years ago? They really are crazy if they're still trying to find you."

Casey didn't look as though *she* thought it was crazy. "People were still chasing Rathley... what was it? Seven years after he humiliated that one man? As long as there is a reward, people are going to try and claim it. But it's Fran who's been running two years. Me? I'm just a late addition."

"Really?" Abigail asked, surprised. "I thought you had been friends with David and Katina."

"No. I am now, but I hitched a ride with them after everything went bad. Back when there were a few more of us."

How many more, Abigail didn't want to ask. It must have been more serious than she had guessed if people had been willing to die for this woman as well as kill for the sake of bringing back her head. "Fran must be a very special woman, to have you all looking after her like this."

Casey swilled her drink around her glass, contemplating that. "Honestly, I did used to wonder why she was worth it. I mean, she's not that special really. But Kat and David are devoted to her, and if anything did happen? I don't want to think about how they'd take it."

She chuckled, smiling down into her drink. Then she looked up with a bashful little smile that looked quite unlike the party-ready Casey that Abigail knew so well. "You know, I kind of hope that one day Kat or David will actually get it together with Fran. Then I can have the survivor to myself!"

Abigail stared at her, not quite sure is she believed her. "They're both interested in her? And they're together... and with you? So... who would you be with?"

"Kat or David, I don't mind who. I love them both. Just not as much as they love each other, it seems." She shrugged again, and finally took a sip of her drink. "I don't know, maybe I'm reading too much into how they and Fran treat each other. I don't really know how it was back in the city."

And Abigail had thought her own love life was strange. Even Chopper and her hot and cold moods couldn't compare to that.

"So. Where are you going to go?"

Casey didn't really know. "West. I guess we'll keep zig-zagging that way, make the most of having lost them here, and head under the Cobalt Line eventually. I think they'll be safe past there."

"I hope you will too." Abigail didn't want this to depress her, but it was a losing battle. "I'm really going to miss you."

"Hey, me too Abby. It's kinda nice, having you around to talk to. Without baggage, you know?"

"Yeah."

Casey gave her that big smile of hers. "And what about you? I know you lot won't be sticking around much longer either, so where will you be going?"

"I don't know either. Wherever the scavenging work takes us, I guess. Unless they already have plans in another town. They haven't said."

"Well if we're both just wandering around, let's hope we bump into each other again," Casey said with optimism. "Or come and find us if you end up on the other side of the Line. I think we'll be finding somewhere to settle down over there, if we can."

"I'll try. I wish I could come with you."

"You *are* still welcome, you know. Fran would appreciate more help, especially yours."

Abigail had only meant it in wishful thinking though. While she would have liked to, she could not in good conscience abandon her own companions, and they had made their own wishes known. "No. The others must have something in mind, or they would have accepted when Fran offered. And I don't want to walk out on them."

"Yeah, I wouldn't leave mine either."

It was a downer, but Abigail finished her drink and forced out a sigh. The rest of their stay in Willets High was going to be a lot less fun without Casey around to spend time with. And her friends, as much as they made Abigail a little uneasy, were good people to know.

"Can I walk back with you? I'd like to say goodbye to David, Katina and Fran properly."

"Uh, we're not going for another couple of days, Abby. I just wanted to tell you. But sure. That'd be nice."

"So what do you think?" Sharn asked as she sat in the hotel bath tub, a few days later.

Behind her Kyle was working through her sodden hair with the block of hard, waxy paste that passed for soap in the Waste. Privately, Kyle always liked his lover's hair when it was weighed down with water, though he would never admit it to her. Her large reddish mane was a matter of pride to her, but it made her a sight to behold when it fell heavily down her shoulders and back, shimmering wetly in the evening light.

Then he paused as he once again realised that it was such simple secrets, the little omissions and harmless white lies, that Sharn cared so much about knowing. How on earth had she lived this long without biting her tongue or 'enhancing' the truth?

Bullshit, he thought a moment later, and he went back to washing her hair. Sharn was a part of their team *because* she was so good at enhancing the truth, distracting attention, and calming the feathers that Rathley, Chopper or himself so often managed to ruffle. Kyle was a people person, unlike those two, but where he was pragmatic and straightforward Sharn was perceptive and sympathetic.

She just didn't want *him* hiding his opinions from *her*. Most other girls he'd dated - hell most girls he'd known, full stop - would have preferred him to keep his honest opinions to himself unless they were complimentary. Maybe it was because of her upbringing, or maybe it was just how she was, but it did seem as though her way *was* the most straightforward one. It just meant telling her things that women generally preferred not to hear. Especially about their beloved hair.

Abigail was the same as Sharn when it came to hair. That plait of hers was so hugely impractical and must have taken real effort to maintain in the desert, but she refused to cut it.

"I think," he finally answered, stroking the strands beneath his fingers, "that you look gorgeous with your hair down."

"Huh? You what?"

"I think you look amazing with your hair down," he repeated, grinning down at her face as she tilted her head back to give him a confused look. "It's... sleek."

"Uh, Kyle, have you even been listening? I wasn't asking about my hair."

So much for the compliment. At least she didn't read anything negative into it about her usual voluminous plumage. "Then I don't know. They have somewhere else to be, and problems to get away from, so they left. Like us."

"We *don't* have places to be though. We're just going where the work is better. We could get by fine if we just stayed in Corva, or Mercedes or High Town."

"We did leave Corva for a reason. We're bound to go back once whatever issues they end up having with the Hearts have worked themselves out. If we weren't going to stick around we'd have taken the caravans east and been long gone already."

Sharn remained quiet for a moment. "Maybe Abby would have been better off going with them. They were looking for a quiet place to live, not hanging around and waiting for the other shoe to drop. And she'd have saved herself a lot of heartache."

That was true enough. Abigail had been impressively pro-active recently, but after all that exhaustive work and study she'd burst into tears even before Casey and her companions had left. "Maybe," Kyle conceded. "She'd be less likely to get shot, but you've heard Chopper's stories. The desert isn't any greener over there. And hell, those Super Mutants sure as hell didn't come from our side of the Line! They don't know *what* it's like over there. God knows when the caravans that way will come through and tell us."

"And," he added, as he began to rinse her hair, "we're not looking for trouble. We're taking some time out, spending our caps, and making sure we're still in the loop if the Hearts start moving properly again. Or even the Brotherhood, if we're unlucky. Who knows what any organised group around here will do if they think there's more of those green giants roaming around. Don't you think Abigail would have something to say about that too?"

"Then why not tell her? She deserves to know that's why you lot want to keep camping out here."

"And I agree with Rathley," Kyle replied, seriously. "She has enough to wrap her head around at the moment, and she's still a vault dweller. We've given her a real crash course, and she's hit the ground running, but she doesn't need the extra worries right now. Especially if making friends with some other traveller reduces her to tears we they leave."

"That's different," Sharn argued, before dunking her head back to remove the last of the oily suds. "She... she lost her family. Everyone in her vault. Of course she doesn't want to let go of anyone else. That's probably why she puts up with Chopper!"

"So the least we can do is give her as much time as we can to acclimatise. People die out here, and *everyone* has somewhere else to be. I don't expect we'll be sticking around with Rathley forever, after all. And I'm damned sure Chopper won't." He shrugged and stood up, drying his hands on the towel he then passed to her. "You can tell her, but I'd wait until she's ready to start worrying about herself again, and what *she'll* want to do about crap like this. After all, who's to say anything'll come of it anyway?"

Em's was all but deserted when Abigail snuck in. She felt a little like a thief as she looked around, wondering if anyone else but the meagre bar staff was there to watch her. She wasn't hiding, and she had no need for caution, but all the same she thought she probably looked like she was guilty of something.

Which she was. But that was her business and no-one else's.

She paused when she saw that she wasn't the only patron to arrive before midday, but relaxed when the ten strong party at the back of the bar did not even glance in her direction. They were far too busy with their own talk, and the beers that several of them drank far too quickly.

Abigail was please to ignore them in return and headed over to the bar where a single familiar face met her.

"Hi Alan. How are you doing?"

The ex-slave looked up from the counter top he was cleaning and greeted her with a small smile. "Abigail. I'm okay. Still feeling a little lost, but I'm getting used to it. I think I told you, but I never realised this town was as big as it is."

He had told her before, but Abigail humoured him. "Well, I guess you can't see that much of it from the school." Of course, he didn't just mean lost in the physical sense but that was understood by both of them.

She was glad that he had found himself work so quickly. The bar hardly needed the extra staff, but since he had been willing to do just about anything for them he now worked with the owner and his son cleaning up each morning and getting the bar back in order after the previous night's excesses. He would probably be pouring drinks before long, once he had finished learning what they all were.

"And how about you? Can Mr Baschek get you a drink?"

"No, I'd better not. I just wanted to see how you were doing, Alan."

It raised her spirits a little when the man suddenly looked flustered. "Aw, are you blushing?" she teased, before letting her amusement fade. "No, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I, uh... I'm going to try and move on again soon. If my friends are okay with it. I don't think I'm going to get much more relaxation by staying here any longer."

Alan gave her a curious look. "Has something happened? If I can help..?"

That was nice of him to offer, but Abigail shook her head. "No, it's okay. I'm just too eager to get back on the road I guess."

He couldn't have missed hearing about her tearful farewells with Casey, and since then Abigail's restlessness had been far more acute. She had hidden in a bottle that afternoon, and then turned Chopper's comforting attempt at seduction into an hour of raw, aggressive lovemaking. The morning after she had been left sore, cold and weak when Chopper left to work. A little green pill had been her answer to both the pain in her head and the lack of her lover beside her.

And her willpower had not lasted past the second day before she'd had to invite that little green fairy back to keep her company.

Not that anyone knew that, but her vocal parting with Casey had started a few rumours, and she was disappointed that her resolve against the Buffout had been broken. Likewise, though they had bonded quickly, she had only known Casey a few weeks. It had been painful to part - far more painful than she could explain rationally - but she still had Sharn as her closest friend and confidant, and she still had all four of the wanderers who had first saved her life. They were almost her family now.

Though she had made a fuss, both in public and afterwards in private, it was not the drama that it had first felt like. She just wanted to put Willets High behind her because, in her mind, Casey, David and Katina had been part of the town's colour. Without them all she had were people to study from, and a single victory over the slavers. She wasn't able to do any more than that, so she would rather leave than let the Dean and his school building sit looking over her already troubled conscience.

"Well, wherever you go, try not to get yourself killed," Alan said, seeming to understand at least a little of her motives. "If I'm not allowed to squander my freedom, you're not allowed to get shot either. That lot," he said, motioning to the two caravans worth of guards at the back table, "they were talking about those Super Mutants of yours, down south-west. I heard about what you went up against, and you might be a hero - *I* know you are - but you can't help anyone if they put a bullet through your skull."

The flattery made Abigail's head spin, but with it came the knowledge that she wasn't nearly so heroic in the flesh. "I'm not a hero. I was... I just wanted to get that monster back for what they did to me. And I didn't want anyone else to die."

Alan smiled, taking his turn to make her blush. "That sounds pretty heroic to me. Just make sure you're alive to enjoy it."

There was an unpleasant falling sensation to this dream. Abigail had had falling dreams before, of course, but never one that lasted so long, or been so persistent. She also knew she was not falling, no matter what her mind telling her. She couldn't be falling because she hung from the gymnastics rope that reached from the floor to the gym's ceiling.

She was lucky that she hadn't fallen all the way and broken her neck. Next to that, hanging upside down five feet off the ground was a much more preferable option.

Of course it did mean she could not escape the five figures who stood in a circle around her, looking at her hanging body with disappointment. And strangely it was not Gillian's eyes that made her feel most guilty. Nor was it Marcus, or Daniel, or Overseer Jahera. They all knew her secrets, or her sins, or the lies she'd told to cover her own backside.

It was Mrs Beatrice Kline, fourth seat Overseer of Vault 42, whose dark eyes filled her with shame. She had never known of Abigail's guilty fantasies about her in life. With the exception of Gillian, Abigail had never admitted being attracted to *anyone*. To Overseer Beatrice Abigail had just been that nice dancer girl who people aught not to tease so much.

And now she knew. She knew what Abigail had pictured in her mind late at night, after her rejection from Gillian had healed, and it made the woman's skin craw. Abigail could see it.

But while Overseer Beatrice needed to say nothing to show her disgust, Marcus was more than willing to be vocal. He held up a very familiar white bottle, and rattled it in front of her.

"So, this is what it's come down to, is it? Our Jinx, frustrated by sex, drugs and alcohol. Is it any wonder your fingers always slip when *this* is what you're resorting to?"

His glare showed the depth of his disappointment in his apprentice. "No wonder you were forever 'oversleeping'. And after all the months I spent training you. Years of work, wasted on a profligate slacker."

With all the blood rushing to her head Abigail could think of a hundred denials, and through her dizziness she could not utter a single one of them. Lies, she cursed inside her head. It was all slander.

Gillian just threw back her head and barked out a laugh, cruel and cutting. "Thank God I never *did* let you touch me. To think you wanted me to end up like that!" That wasn't Gillian, even in the slightest, but it looked like her and sounded like her, and Abigail couldn't help but be hurt.

"It was her idea to break into the computer room," Daniel snitched. "She couldn't have done it without me, she didn't even have *those* skills, but I wasn't looking though people's confidential files. Man, I wish she'd found another pervert there though. That would have been hot."

I'm not a pervert! Abigail screamed inside, trying desperately not to feel like a piece of hanging meat as Daniel eyed her. She couldn't help who she was! He wasn't allowed to do that to her! How would he have felt knowing *he* would never find someone in the vault who would love *him*? She dearly hoped Overseer Beatrice or the real Gillian had never felt as used and objectified as she did right then, and after that Beatrice's betrayed glare only made her feel dirtier.

And Overseer Jahera, ever stern and yet so frustratingly willing to forgive and understand, looked at her with infuriating pity. "You had potential, Abigail. Why would you throw it all away like this?"

"BECAUSE I'M *ALIVE*, AND YOU FUCKING AREN'T!"

Her voice had come back to her like a thunderbolt piercing the sky, and she hung furious and defiant between the friends and family who now judged her so unfairly.

"You can't talk to me like that! I'm a *success*! I'm a good person, and I'm doing the best I can. So what if I need those pills? Even if I'm so worthless that I can't give up on my own, I don't know where to get any more! I'll have to give up one way or the other! And I never did anything wrong to any of you. I don't know who you are, but you aren't my friends and you aren't my family, so GET LOST!"

And then she really did fall, collapsing limp and suddenly quiet at the feet of her parents. Her father had cut her down with a knife, which he threw to the floor in disgust. "She's right, let her leave. Her kind are out *there*. I don't know who she is, but she isn't family."

Abigail woke in tears, and Chopper could only ask why. To her relief, when Abigail did tell her, Chopper did not ridicule or even smirk before slipping over to offer comfort.

It was the next morning that saw the group standing at the edge of Willets High, looking back into the strange, bi-polar town. How such a happy and peaceful place could thrive on a foundation of a slave trade and the good will of secretive refugees was a mystery that Abigail doubted she would ever be able to get her head around. In a way she would be sad to put it behind her, when she thought back to the personal victories she had won there. Buying her first real gun, surviving the Radscorpions and standing up to the man who ran both the town and his own private army of slavers; despite her urgent need to put it all behind her, she was taking away a lot of good memories from such a shadowy town.

Chopper had taken no issue with her desire to leave, though after that night her lover had become a little distant. As if she didn't care what they did. Abigail hoped that Chopper was just bored with the town now as well, and that her recent moods had not annoyed Chopper.

Sharn and Kyle had no reason to leave, but both seemed glad that she was wanting to go out and explore again. Abigail had tried to wake early and look for a few places she might like to visit on Celia's PipBoy maps, and Kyle in particular had more to add to her short list. Apparently Giltford was nice this time of year, with the worst of the summer heat over, but neither Sharn nor Chopper were eager to venture so near to the vague swathe of territory there known as the mantis Swarmlands. They'd had their fill of invertebrates for this year.

Rathley was a harder sell. His woman was still more than willing to put him up, and he had not even come close to drinking his way through the profits of their last few jobs. However, against the four of them he put up only a minor resistance, and with his leg healed he had little excuse to have them remain there any longer. He had joined them by the time they had made their last preparations and done their re-supplying, as he had said he would, leaving his host with a last flurry of sex to remember him by which he took great pains to mention in as much detail as they could stand.

Abigail had bought little in preparation. Another pouch full of bullets replaced what she had spent on the Radscorpions, and then some. A couple more .357 magnum rounds and another cylinder's worth of .38 specials was plenty, cleaning the gunsmith out of the latter. She was surprised to realise she had started to think of them by calibre after those few days she'd spent learning how to clean and maintain her gun from the friendly gunsmith. She must have seemed so ignorant when she'd thought that a bullet was just a bullet. Especially to the Mercs back in Corva, who had taken such pride in their weapons.

But that ammunition and her share of travelling rations was all she really thought she would need. In the end it was Chopper who had picked their next destination, and though both Kyle and Rathley had questioned her choice, to Abigail it didn't really matter. She just wanted to be somewhere different, and before then get back to travelling with just the four of them, where everything would be less complicated.

She would be able to get herself sorted out that way.

To be continued...

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2010


	15. Backlash

After the Vault: Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

000

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 15

Backlash

For most wastelanders, even the coddled townies, two days on the road was not a long time to walk anywhere. For Abigail, who had lived her entire life a single lift-ride away from anywhere in her small underground world, it was the most draining part of surfacer life.

Not the gunfights, or the food, or the messed up morals, or the lack of hygiene facilities. Or the drugs.

Walking for hour upon hour under the desert sun, with her hot cape over her head to keep her from burning: that was the one greatest test of her willpower that the surface had to offer.

The fights were very different. The danger, the adrenaline, and her confidence in her own agility - be it real or chemical - it all ensured that the fear and the thrill were over quickly, one way or the other. Likewise, she had found herself adapting to daily life with remarkable ease. The food was palatable, and even preferable to her vault meals at times, and she simply had to remind herself that people lived the way they did on the surface because that was how they stayed alive. It was survival of the fittest, but also survival of the most common interest. A single slaver or raider might be hunted down and shot without trial or mercy, but an organised gang of them could ensure their own survival, and that of anyone willing to affiliate with them. Or at least tolerate them. Such a case was unpalatable, but the only alternative was a bloodbath, and not even the gangs' victims wanted to offer up their lives so cheaply. It was an upsetting truth, but one she had to live with.

The treks were always fine to begin with, exhilarating even, but walking eight or ten hours a day under a sun that Sharn said had already lost the worst of its summer anger... That was a trial beyond any other, physical and unrelenting. She walked no matter how her muscles ached or her head throbbed, because if she did not she would end up dying where she fell from desert exposure. She knew her friends would not have let that happen to her, of course, but then she would be keeping *them* out in the Waste even longer, and they endured the same things she did.

It had been so much easier when they had ridden a cart.

The walk had worked as she had hoped though. In such close quarters her four companions were all there were to take any note of, beyond the rocks and dry weeds that poked through the cracked earth. A quartet of wild brahmin were the highlight of the trip, and one Rathley noted not to stray too close to. In such an environment Abigail had been given no chance to succumb to her cravings for the little green pills in her bag, and though her nerves grew strained she did not dare to chance it in case she was caught.

The flaw was that it was impossible for the others not to notice her withdrawals. The inner tension and weakness she could simply keep to herself, but when the paranoia set in she couldn't help but look away when Sharn tried to engage her in conversation, in case she might notice something. Thankfully Chopper put her moods down to exhaustion and the heat, because despite eating well at Willets High Abigail was still too skinny for Chopper's liking.

Part of Abigail was still hoping that Chopper would realise what was going on, and that could help put an end to it once and for all, but her girlfriend still seemed pre-occupied with other things. Abigail had hoped that, once they got to their destination, they might be able to talk again without it needing to be about her health. Chopper was not usually talkative unless they were alone, but they had at least flirted in the tent on past travels, if not more.

But for all her conceived hardships Abigail was very glad to be moving again. As gruelling as it could be and as worried as she was in case one of them questioned her reticence too closely, she could take Chopper's hand and have it held firmly, as if the mutual, unexplained silence between them was not even worth thinking on. Rathley was still his crude, authoritative self, pointing out banalities that would ensure that they survived, with Kyle and Sharn taking notes on the rare cases it was not common knowledge for them. It was *all* new to Abigail, and though she was in no shape to memorise the notes it reassured her that Rathley still gave them. And Sharn was there to help explain the truly mundane, like why they rose so early in the morning and camped so early at night, matching the arc of the sun, or how to pace herself to conserve both energy and water.

These were not just people who picked her up from the Cobalt Line and dusted her off. They cared, they looked out for her, and that made it all so much easier.

000

It took Abigail a while, but after getting there and settling in over the course of an afternoon, Abigail could see why Chopper liked Bob. Bob was the sort of simple, straight talking town that suited Chopper down to the ground.

The town was also called Bob, which for all her stress made Abigail giggle like she was nine years old again. Bob. She though she might try to write a song about it. 'Out, in the Mid-Waste, livin' in a town called Bob.'

As the townsfolk had told her, if 'Robert' was a good enough name for a man, it was good enough name for a town. It was just the affectionate way they still called it Bob for short. It cracked her up.

The others weren't immune either. Rathley barely spoke a word that wasn't drenched in sarcasm that the townsfolk simply didn't get, and Sharn admitted her amusement in private.

Chopper thought they were all hypocrites. She was happy to know of a town without a name like Celebrity or Paradise, that couldn't even pretend to deliver on its shallow promises. The town of Robert didn't put on airs, it just sat there and got on with life. Yes, despite the opportunity for ridicule - and it wasn't as though she didn't take the opportunity - it was definitely Chopper's kind of town. It also helped that they hadn't banned her from practicing there yet.

It was very much not Rathley or Kyle's type of place though. It didn't cater for customers, and the best entertainment to be had was challenging the patrons of the town's single bar to cards. There were no bored skirts to impress, no hookers to hire, no dodgy dealers to cheat or humiliate. Just crop farmers and the caravan market they sold to. Even the alcohol was boring; either pale, flat beer or gut wrenching moonshine. No sipping liquor or rotgut rum here.

It was the kind of rural town that must have been normal back before the bombs fell, Abigail decided. Maybe the details would be different - she doubted the farmers would have been their own armed police force back then - but then how could she know? All she saw were people going about their business, earning their livings honestly for once, and not fearing the next sudden attack from wasteland gangsters or mutant animals.

"Oh, we get the mantises, and the pigrats," she was told when she voiced her thoughts. "But they don't argue with a 12 gauge too long."

It *was* obvious that everyone, absolutely *everyone*, was armed. The large, sun-baked farmers, the wicker-weaving girls, the fruit-stall owners. There was no sheriff and no town guard, but apparently they policed themselves. Abigail had to wonder how justice was done when every man and his dog had at least a knife in evidence, if not a pistol.

The response was simple. "You wanna take my crops or my husband bad enough to die for it? No, we're not that stupid here, 'cause we know we'll do it. And you folks don't look that stupid either, else you'd have been warned to keep your hands to yourselves. God knows old scar-faced Rathley got told enough, back in the day. He was wise enough to listen."

000

While the men might have chosen a livelier destination that did not mean they could not amuse themselves that evening. The final morning's walk to the town had not been a hard one, and it did not take them long after dinner to ingratiate themselves with the evening's drinkers. Both could handle any liquor the Mid-Waste could throw at them, and Sharn was instantly embraced by the men's wives and girlfriends as a fellow woman whose company had been spurned in favour of drink and inane games of chance.

However, Chopper had disappeared upstairs soon after their plates had gone, and with her energy drained and wits pulled tight from withdrawal Abigail chose to hide from her friends in favour of finding the woman whose strong, warm company she needed to pull her through the night. Abigail knew it was mostly her fault, her paranoia keeping them all at a distance that was more separating than safe, but at the same time her emotions were ruled by far more than just her Buffout problems. Chopper had barely spoken to her in days, and though she was in the worst of positions to make an accusation Abigail desperately wanted Chopper to talk to her again. Chopper had never shared a single worry with her, and now Abigail needed her to. It was that, or Abigail herself might have to bring down the divide between them. She could not deal with her own problem if she was also worry about Chopper like this.

And she was worried that, if it was taking this much effort just to deal with her own problems, Chopper might have to be the one she shut out, along with whatever issues she now had, so that Abigail could right herself again.

It was the first time Abigail had even contemplated letting go of her lover. Certainly, Chopper might have got bored of her like she had Erin, but willingly pushing Chopper away? For all her faults, no-one had ever made Abigail feel as loved, as desired, or as appreciated as Chopper had in their moments of passion and intimacy. The idea of letting that go in the hope of finding someone who even gave her a fraction of what Chopper did was terrifying. Especially now that she wanted so badly to draw on someone else's strength for her own sake.

She found Chopper in their rented room over the bar, looking out of the open window and watching the sun set over the tall lines of woody grain that filled the dry fields beyond. And damn her fears, Abigail could not even bring herself to go and stand there with her.

"Chopper?"

Chopper looked back briefly before turning back to the vivid red sky. "What?"

"Are... are you okay?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

How could Abigail know? Chopper hadn't told her anything. "I don't know. But I'm worried."

"Why?"

"... Because you aren't talking to me." Abigail stepped closer, and was rewarded when Chopper turned to her again, properly this time.

"Do you have something you want to talk about?"

Yes! God, yes! "N-no. Not really." Of course, there was no God there to answer any prayers, and make her confess. She had known that already. All she had was herself, and that would have to do. She just had to be brave, because if she would not talk to Chopper, how could she expect Chopper to do the same. "Uh, why did you want to come here? To this town."

Chopper raised an eyebrow. Maybe she was surprised that Abigail had opened the dialogue herself, but whatever the reason she did answer. "Why not? They do things right here. They get their work done, and they don't fuck about over it."

"Is it the kind of town you grew up in?"

Chopper paused, and there was another flicker of reticence and uncertainly in Chopper's eyes! "Yes," she finally answered, after some thought. "Before the shit hit the fan."

"Is it... Bad memories?

Chopper gave her another look. A dark one this time. "No worse than yours."

Abigail didn't know what that meant, but it made her stomach turn to remember the torn bodies that had laid strewn about her vault. Combined with the weakness in her limbs she suddenly wanted to vomit. "I, uh, I'm sorry."

And to her credit Chopper looked shamefaced for making Abigail wobble where she stood. "Don't be. I'm not."

But how could Abigail reconcile like this, if Chopper had nothing to tell her but these veiled illusions to a forgotten past? It was so dispiriting. If only Chopper would tell her what was wrong! "Marie? Was it me? Did I do something wrong?"

Using her given name did at least get a response, and Chopper turned to frown at her. Any response was better than none. "Are you trying to piss me off?"

"I'm trying to make you love me! I... I want you to love me again!" Abigail could feel tears stinging her eyes. Why the hell was this so hard? She could already feel her voice cracking as it weakened. "You said you loved me. That wasn't a lie, was it?"

And slowly, ever so slowly it seemed, Chopper's face softened into the kind, considerate one Abigail knew she was capable of. "No. It wasn't a lie. I do love you, Abby." She huffed, as if she was trying to fight the small smile that appeared. "Though I wish it wasn't such hard fucking work sometimes."

She took Abigail's hands, reassuring the girl, and that was all Abigail needed to lean into Chopper's body, weeping and utterly exhausted. "Damn it, Chopper. You're the one that's hard work!"

Finally in that embrace she felt free enough that her fears had fled for the moment, and she leaned up to kiss her lover. However, their lips met for only a moment before Chopper pulled back.

"W-what? What's wrong?" Abigail demanded. "You... I just want you to hold me..."

Chopper looked genuinely unsure for a moment, but to Abigail's relief it was soon replaced with a sultry smile as Chopper licked her lips. "Okay. That I can do, hon."

Abigail offered no resistance as Chopper was the one to lean in this time, her mouth capturing Abigail's with more intensity than it had in weeks. Abigail found herself leaning back as Chopper's sudden passion overwhelmed her, and while Abigail merely held Chopper's soft waist Chopper herself was pushing her back onto the bed and pulling her out of her jacket and jumpsuit top with barely any help from Abigail. Abigail crawled back onto the bed as soon as their lips parted, or else she would fall, and looked back up at her partner. The sight of Chopper pulling her shirt over her head took Abigail's breath away in anticipation. Abigail had so been hoping to feel Chopper's fingers tracing her skin for these last few days. To those heavy breasts pressed against her. Even just to have Chopper kiss her, wrapped in her arms.

A moment later Chopper's makeshift bra was discarded and she loomed over Abigail, almost nose to nose, her nipples gently resting against Abigail's as one hand slipped around underneath her and began to fulfil that wish.

Abigail's breath was heavy already, and she tilted her head up, awaiting another kiss.

"And no more toothpaste," Chopper whispered, before giving Abigail that kiss. The caressing hands that she had missed so badly made Abigail shiver and again, when Chopper broke their kiss she licked her lips looking like a cat that had got to the cream. "You're what I want, not the damned peppermint."

000

Ten minutes later the sounds of Abigail's orgasm penetrated the wooden floor and down to the bar. Cheers and snickers were met with an equal number of contemptuous glances upwards, but Rathley just huffed and took another sip of moonshine.

"About fuckin' time, girls."

000

Eternal desert, bereft of life, the only sound the unfettered wind and the only smell the dust that it carried. A black sun beat down upon the dead expanse, drawing from it any rare moisture that might have remained.

Abigail was tired. There was no shelter, and no sustenance. Nowhere to hide any more. Though not intended, she had seen to that herself. Ironic then, that this was how she had finally found her peace. She sat cross legged on the rocky ground, protected from the elements only by her torn and bloodied jumpsuit. The final remnant of her first nineteen years of life.

"It's big, isn't it?" Gillian said. The two sat back to back, friends in the face of every adversity. Her dreadlocks tickled Abigail's neck, the single source of welcome warmth under the dark, baking sun.

"Bigger than I ever imagined," Abigail agreed. "I had never realised how confined I had felt until I saw the sky. I thought it would swallow me whole, it was so vast."

"I can't imagine life without it," Casey observed. The two of them looked up together, and though they faced away from each other, their fingers laced themselves together. "It gives me hope, you know? That there's somewhere else to explore underneath the next star. Someone exciting to meet. A place to call home."

"Home." Abigail echoed the word as if she no longer knew the meaning of the word, but even so it was a comforting sound. "Home. Home. But I think I'm already there. I don't want home to be somewhere different. I want home to be with you too."

Overseer Beatrice disagreed, and she rubbed Abigail's thumb comfortingly as she held the girl's hand. "I know you don't mean that, Abigail. You have your own places to go, and I have people who need me to return to them. Just as you do."

"But they don't need me. I'm the one that needs them. And even that isn't enough."

"We all have people who need us." Marcus' voice was stern, the lecturing mentor now rather than the older friend. "And we will always need others. That's a fact of life, Abby. It doesn't matter what they call you, or what they believe. In the Vault, or out here, it isn't as different as you might think. You all have a role, even if the machine you are running is too vast to understand as a whole."

"Even if I don't know what my role is?"

Overseer Jahera's reply was soft and understanding. "Yes, even then, Abigail. And none of us are perfect. We all have our rough edges. What matters is that we keep trying. Should we falter, we have friends and partners to pick us up and keep us going."

"But I don't know if she will be willing to pick me up. And I can't get up on my own."

Alfred Parker laughed. "Hahaha, of course not. You never learn, do you, Jinx." Abigail pulled her hand back from his, hurt. But his voice lost its humour instantly. "It's a curse, Jinx. But don't worry. Who says it's going to be *her* that picks your sorry ass off the floor?"

That Abigail could at least agree with. "Maybe. But I'd like it to be her."

"Pumpkin, we all have someone like that," her mother said. "I never wanted to admit how poor a housekeeper I was when I met your father. It didn't stop him marrying me."

"I love her so much though, but it still wasn't enough."

Chopper just shrugged, leaning back against Abigail. "Shit happens, hon. Life goes on."

"Yes." And Abigail swallowed the little green tab in her mouth. "Yes, it does."

000

Abigail didn't kiss Chopper that morning, and nor did she let on how poorly she had slept. The evening had been perfect, setting her mind at ease like it had not been for weeks, but her body was less easily pacified. She had woken in sweats after only a few hours, and had crept from the bed to avoid waking Chopper like this again. Her legs had barely supported her as she stumbled quietly through the dark room to sit against the wall. She had remained there for over an hour, waiting for the trembling and nausea to pass.

It hadn't. In the end she had been left no choice. Either she gagged and retched out of the window, or she took the pill. With Chopper still sleeping in their bed Abigail had chosen the latter, and remained silent. It was remarkable how quickly the symptoms subsided as soon as the Buffout crunched between her teeth, and she smelt the aromatic chemicals filling her sinuses. Though guilty Abigail had soon returned to bed with a new sense of power and purpose, to dream her surreal, reflective dreams.

With that newly ingested confidence Abigail had finally slept, but could not remain in bed beyond the rising of the sun. She wanted to be lazy, and make the most of this contented mood while it lasted, but instead she forced herself from the bed and dressed while Chopper dozed.

When Chopper did rise not long afterwards she was surprised to see Abigail out and cleaning up the room. "Hmm? Since when are you an early bird?"

Abigail might have lost her paranoia for the moment, but her caution remained. Chopper would notice her mood if she was not careful, not to mention that she had not brushed her teeth after what Chopper had said the night before. So, while she wanted to walk over and kiss her lover passionately for last night she lowered her head a little and tried to look bashful. "I'm... not. I just thought I ought to put my stuff away."

Chopper threw the sheets off herself and walked over, still stark naked. "Feeling better then?"

Though she yearned for a cuddle or a kiss, Abigail made a point of taking her hand instead. It was a reserved gesture, but one she would still have been comfortable with even in the depths of her withdrawals. "Yes," she said, blushing at her own recollections.

If Chopper noticed her duplicity she did not show it. Instead she just squeezed Abigail's hand in approval before picking up the underwear that Abigail had collected and left on the dresser. "Good girl."

000

Robert was unlike any of the other places Abigail had been taken to, even apart from its moniker. For a town without definite leadership it was curiously lacking in social politics or power struggles. They were not harassed by bandits because they had so little to steal, and the monstrous animals of the desert had long since learned not to try their luck against farmers who were not only armed but would club together to hunt down any offending wildlife.

With few insects to butcher and no raiders to defend against Abigail's group drifted apart during the day, each falling back on what they did best. Seeing that his scavenging and mercenary services were not needed Rathley set up camp at the bar, taking company as it came to him. For a few caps, or another drink, he was more than happy to live up to his reputation not only as a rogue, but as a master traveller. Though his own tales seemed to bore him on occasion, there were plenty of younger townsfolk willing to pay the meagre fee for him to dispense his wisdom, be it on wilderness survival, animal hunting or tactics for a gunfight. His advice was plain, straightforward, and would keep those listening alive if they were unlucky enough to need it.

He also got to drink, show off his worldly knowledge in front of lesser men, and flirt with the ladies who had occasion to join him. Not a bad trade off, seeing as there was nothing better to do.

Chopper on the other hand wasted little time in going about the entire town, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that a proper medical woman would be staying for a while. Though most injuries and sicknesses she had to treat were minor - the town hardly being rife with gun fighting or plagues - she had now brought its population of practiced medical doctors up to a total of one. Any healing that got done was usually seen to by one of the various older women of the town, and treated with what basic remedies they could remember from their own mothers. As such, she too not only had healing to perform, but teaching to give both to Sharn and Abigail when they were around and to those women who could spare the time to be taught. Though Chopper was not a people person by nature, Abigail did think she seemed to enjoy the job satisfaction that came with such a role.

Kyle and Sharn, when not taking their cues from their respective tutors, found a place for themselves with the caravan traders at the gates. Sharn's personable attitude and Kyle's greater knowledge of wasteland goods' worth meant that they could play advisor to either the townsfolk of Robert or the caravan traders themselves as necessary. There was little to actually buy with caps in Robert, and so the value of bartered goods was much more variable than in larger, less rural towns, and equally the locals here would often over estimate the value of good that they did not produce and regularly sell themselves.

It also meant that Sharn and Kyle could make some nice trades for themselves as well, cleaning out much of the groups unnecessary bulk in exchange for a few more valuable commodities. One particular trader was carrying some books and journals that Sharn leapt on with great enthusiasm once she realised she could make an offer for them. With education at a premium such things were much sought after, even if the subject matter was of little interest to the buyer.

As for Abigail, she tried to study with Chopper when she could, but spent much of her time learning just what it was like to eke out a living in the desert, rather than living on hospitality that could be bought. Desert farming was laborious, unrewarding work, but those she talked to seemed happy with their lot. They were the ones making sure their own families were fed, no matter what happened, and they could still make a living from it as well. Unlike so many surfacers, such as the money lenders in Corva, the pimps and card sharps in Micasa or the slavers of Willets High, these people worked all the day they could in their dry fields, orchards and Brahmin pens to pay their way.

While Abigail joined only them once or twice, being untrained and untalented at farm labour, it gave her new respect for what was actually required to survive out there.

And that was how the five of them continued for a short time, working with and around the farmers and their little trading post. That is until their fourth day of convalescence, when Erin Golway arrived.

000

Sharn was alone at the trading post, and unlike the past few days she was happy not to be taking part in the bartering that was going on around her. Her smooth tongue and desert savvy wasn't needed when water caravan prices would always be extortionate. Either you paid what you had to, because you were desperate, or you trusted that what you had was enough to tide you over. And the more desperate you were, the higher the prices would be. Dirty profiteering, but it worked.

Instead Sharn had turned her mind to her friends. Abigail and Chopper had made up, but both were still too tense and snappy for her liking, and their personal little rollercoaster seemed on it downward dip once again. She left them to it now though. If some serious, no holds barred sex couldn't sort their problems out, Sharn didn't know what would. Maybe that was a peculiarity of being gay, in which case Sharn was even gladder that she wasn't.

She perked up as another caravan appeared on the trail to town, as did most of those who had done their business with the water merchants and were looking to actually sell some of their own wares for more varied trades.

"Don't know who these are," one of the farming daughters told Sharn. "That looks too big for the High Town Couriers."

Indeed, the caravan that approached was a full seven carts strong, and better guarded than even a convoy of *that* size required. It piqued the curiosity of everyone present, even those who weren't there to trade on behalf of their families. Several people un-holstered their firearms in case it was a poorly conceived raiding party, but it soon became apparent that wasn't the case.

It wasn't the caravan from High Town, but as they approached two of the carts split off from the group and stopped short of the town gate posts, while the five traders filed inside. The traders were two different companies from Mercedes, much further to the south and not expected to arrive on the same day, but the two carts that stopped short bore no insignia, and from them flowed a twelve-strong band of mercenaries.

And in the middle of that band stood a short, petite girl in a dust covered cloak and hood. But beneath the hood Sharn recognised her immediately.

"Erin?"

It *was* Erin, daughter of Corva's Mayor, still wearing a horridly impractical dress underneath her filthy cloak. She looked as though she hadn't slept in days, her dusty face and unsteady steps only making her look worse.

The girl paused when she heard her name, and the swarm of armed men and women stopped with her, eyeing Sharn with caution. While several of the traders were content to welcome the Mercedes groups as they where supposed to, many more just watched Sharn as she approached the armed group.

Erin did not bother with the pleasantries Sharn might have expected, and instead made right for her as soon as she realised who Sharn was.

"Where's Chopper?" the girl demanded in a rasping voice.

Not only did Erin look terrible, Sharn realised as Erin approached, but she smelled horrific as well. Or, to be more precise, it was the box Erin carried that smelled so gruesome. "Erin, what are you doing here? Are you okay?"

Erin might as well not have heard her. "WHERE IS SHE!"

Sharn scrunched her nose and took the girl by the shoulders, which brought several of the Mercs' weapons to bear on her, but she looked Erin in the eyes in an effort to get through to her. "Erin, Chopper's here somewhere, I'll find her for you. Just tell me what's wrong. Why did you leave Corva?"

Erin's face twisted, half in a snarl and half in desperation as she took her stinking box in both hands and opened the lid. Sharn recoiled as the smell hit her ten times as strongly, but her stare was one of revulsion and appalled shock. The dry, severed head of Mayor Gerald Golway stared back from inside.

"They took it," Erin growled. Her eyes were wet, but her voice was dark and steady. "The Hearts. They killed father, and they took our town. I'm going return the favour!"

000

The bar and rest house was packed following Erin's arrival. Not a single farmer remained in his fields, and those who found no seats remaining sat on the stairs or perched themselves on windowsills to listen as the young woman related her morbid tale. News like this hadn't come to Robert in years, and already the gossip machine was in full swing, even as the story unfolded.

Erin had been on the road for over a week now, after the Hearts' leader - a gifted psychotic called Jackhammer - had given her her father's head and sent her on her way. She was to bring him the girl who had killed his Brute, and he would return her town, as long as he hadn't got comfortable there in the mean time.

Rathley's only response to that was to laugh. "Ha! He'll just 'give it back', will he? Ain't he charmin'."

"Of course he won't!" Erin snapped back, moving seamlessly from one glass of sickening moonshine to the next, and grimacing as she sipped it. "Eagh. And even if he did, I wouldn't let him! Not after this. They shot my father down and then cut him up like a brahmin! They have to die for it!"

"Hence your little army." Kyle looked at the armed newcomers. Several he recognised, and they he knew to be skilled. Not on Rathley's or the late Nathaniel's level maybe, but with reputations none the less. And some of them just seemed to be armed do-gooders, taking up Erin's cause because it was the right thing to do. One of them was the merchant who owned the second caravan cart, and had given up his trade route in order to take part. "And you want us?"

Erin nodded. "I know better than most how good you are. Having Rathley on our side would be a huge benefit, for the sake of morale, and the rest of you... I've heard about your skills, and Sharn's. And Abigail was the one to finish off their Super Mutant. I'll do it without you if I have to, but I would have banked on your assistance before."

She gave the four of them a pensive look. "And now I get to see if I'm as good a judge of character as I think I am."

Chopper remained quiet, as she had been since she had heard of this, and Rathley sighed, as if the whole thing was imposing on some busy schedule of his, but Kyle remained businesslike.

"And you think, what, twenty of us would be able drive out a force of Hearts large enough to take Corva by force?"

Erin grimaced over her drink again. "I will be returning past Giltford and Micasa, the way I should have gone in search of you, apparently. I think we can hire more guns there as well. But you are correct. We will be facing most if not all of the Hearts' camps. I don't know how many that is. But they have two more Super Mutants with them; the Brute's friends. It told the Hearts' leaders where to find them, before being given to the camp you took down."

"T-two?" Abigail stammered, suddenly turning pale. "Two more!"

"And at least, what, three dozen Hearts?" Rathley guessed. "Assuming they've sent some of their camps back out by now. Not good odds, Sugar."

From the bar side one of the unknown hirelings, the armed merchant man, spoke up. "Fuck the odds! And fuck your wage, all of you. This is about putting the Hearts down, permanently. Cutting the head off the fucking snake!"

"No," Erin corrected him. "It won't stop them for good. Not unless we're stupidly lucky. But we can get most of them, along with the man who got them organised enough to make attacks like this. And we will. But the more people we have - real fighters, like you five - then the fewer people have to die doing it."

"And," she added, icing the cake, "I know my town. I know where my people will have gone to save themselves, and how best to get inside to meet up with them. They won't have gone down without a fight, and they can help arm and support those who need it."

She cast her eyes around the entire bar. "So will you help me avenge my father, and everyone in Corva who was butchered by these monsters? They are fighting for their lives right now. Please?"

Abigail nodded. Her hands were trembling knowing just how unlikely someone was to survive the kind of attack Erin was presenting, but if ever there was a time to help people, this was it. This was where she made herself worthwhile, and if there was even one of those Super Mutant freaks still alive out there then...

Then she would be too scared to sleep, until she saw it dead.

"I'm in."

"So am I." Abigail's heart lifted to hear those words echoed from Chopper's mouth. She would be there with her as well. Kyle and Sharn followed suit, each one making the prospect seem less like suicide.

Then, to Abigail revulsion, Rathley asked a very simple question.

"What's the pay then, Sugar?"

"Rathley!"

Erin took the question in her stride. "Whatever my father had to spend on his cowardly guard, it's yours. Half of them did not stay to earn their pay when they saw those hulking mutants, and the rest were killed because of it. I will pay it all to any who help. I don't know how much it is, but it must be four hundred caps each, even if we all survive.

A few whistles flew across the room. If she was expecting to get twenty five warriors on her side that was ten thousand caps, right there. Instantly Abigail could see that the temptation there would be too great for some. Knowing what so many wastelanders were like, Erin really did need all the help she could get.

"And whatever you take from the Hearts is yours," Erin continued, barely pausing. "No doubt they have some of those caps themselves anyway."

Rathley mulled it over, before nodding. "Count me in then. It's been a while since my last town war. Gotta keep up appearances, an' all."

And from the doorway, quite unexpected, a large, older farmer barked out his approval as well. He held a long, double barrelled shotgun in his hand, and at his side two tough, grizzled looking dogs barked at the noise. "Me and all!"

"Harv, no!" came a pair of feminine voices from further outside, but the man just beckoned them inside, past him, and shook his head. "Corva's been good to us. Good trading people. We can spare a gun or two, and the Hearts have never had a Robert's dog chase 'em into the dirt!"

At the table Erin sagged a little over her empty shot glass, her face showing a smile of tired relief for the first time since she had arrived. "Thank you."

"Heh, thank us when we win, Sugar."

000

Abigail didn't regret putting herself forward for the task, or that she had been the first of her friends to do so. She was trying to be their moral compass, and anything she could do to make life safer and more just, she would.

It also meant that she would be walking into a firing squad, and among that squad would be yet more of those grotesque green hulks she had come to hate so desperately. Despite the nausea in her stomach she had once again chosen to put her life in danger, this time for people like Christian, Celia and Stephanie - people she actually liked - but the threat to her life was greater still to compensate for that.

Sitting alone in her darkened room at the inn, she could only wonder why she was so eager to throw her life after such futile, noble causes. It wouldn't change much in the end. She might save a few people she cared about, and surely that was enough, but to risk her life so often, and so easily... It worried her.

So did the bottle of pills in her hand. Just six of them left now, and with this new gauntlet thrown down so suddenly she could not resist four days of need now. Hopefully that would be enough to get her through the trip back to Corva and the fights that would follow. If ever there was a legitimate need for the Buffout, two super mutants and a town full of raiders would be it.

She twisted the lid on the bottle and dropped one of the pale green pills into her palm. It was as she lifted it to her lips that the door, already cracked ajar, slammed open.

"Chopper?" Abigail tried to hide both the bottle and the pill behind her back, though she knew it was futile. She had shut the door fast when she had come up, knowing that she needed the drug's help tonight, so Chopper must have opened it with great care since the latch hadn't clicked.

Indeed, Chopper had done just that a minute before, into order to watch this happen. "You thought we wouldn't find out eventually?" Chopper growled as she strode into the room. Abigail got to her feet, about to protest, but Chopper took her by the arm and, with strength Abigail knew she was capable of, Chopper wrestled the bottle from her hands and gave it a rattle. "Humf, sounds like you got through a lot of this shit. It *is* the same bottle, isn't it?"

The pill in her hand didn't give Abigail the same arrogance it would have done between her teeth, and now she was caught she merely nodded. "Y-yes."

Abigail didn't know what she expected in response, but the strong, powerful slap that whipped across her cheek was surprise enough to take her off her feet and leave her sprawled on the bed. "Ahh."

"I WARNED you about this shit, Abby. And then the moods, the inconsistent periods, and that *fucking* toothpaste! I'm amazed it took as long to realise it as it did."

With her cheek and temples throbbing and her nerves already frayed, Abigail snapped. "SHUT UP! You don't know what it's like! You don't know, and you can't tell me what to do!" Abigail sat up and defiantly threw the pill into her mouth, the synthetic taste fuelling her rage even without crushing it in her teeth. "Fuck you, Chopper! I'm sorry I'm not perfect, but I don't fucking care! I can deal with it on my own!"

Her tirade did not have the effect Abighail had intended, and Chopper just looked down at her in angry disappointment. "*This* is dealing with it? You wouldn't know *how* to quit even if you could. I warned you. Buffout's not one of those you just *decide* to give up!"

"Well maybe if you'd SAID something instead of *blowing up* at me I'd know, wouldn't I!"

"You shouldn't *need* to know, Abby! No-one in their right mind *needs* to know! It's common fucking sense! You don't *take* the fucking stuff!"

Abigail was furious. This whole Buffout mess was Chopper's fault anyway. She would have bitten down on the pill and given Chopper a real piece of her mind, except that she was supposed to be giving up, wasn't she? She only had six pills left, so she'd face it eventually. She needed them for the super mutants, not for fighting Chopper. And Chopper had the bottle now anyway.

Fighting against both her anger and her tortured good intentions she used the last of her energy to spit the pill onto the floor, still whole. Feeling the taste still on her tongue without the rush to go with it was enough to make her weep. "Fine! Take them," she sobbed, glaring at her woman who was supposed to love her. "Then I'll have to stop, won't I!"

Chopper looked down at the pill, then at Abigail. "Crying about it won't solve anything." And then, to Abigail's horror, Chopper tossed the bottle of pills back onto the bed next to her. "If you're dealing with it, then *deal* with it. Either you wean yourself off properly, or you quit cold turkey and hope the chemical shock doesn't give you a fucking heart attack!"

"W-what? Y-you can't do this to me Chopper!" Abigail wailed, now crying in earnest, unable to move from the bed. Her voice fell to a whimper. "You never told me. How was I supposed to know that?"

"Wake the fuck up, Abigail! I've known about you and those pills since Willet's High! *I* read it in *your* medical book because *you* were taking the fucking steroids!"

And that was it. Chopper left, slamming the door behind her, and Abigail was left to cry herself into furious, pitiful exhaustion, no longer knowing what to believe - about anything.

000

With time of the essence Erin's carts left the following day, taking their new recruits with them, but even before they left the change in the air was clear. Like their prior lovemaking, the screaming match between Abigail and Chopper had not been subtle, and Sharn couldn't help but note that only Abigail appeared from the shared room that morning. Chopper slouched through the bar's front door having slept elsewhere, and when she looked towards Abigail the younger girl - unkempt and puffy eyed - looked down to stare angrily at the remains of her meagre breakfast.

The pair did not speak a word to each other all morning, and the one brief approach from Chopper only made Abigail turn away again, and leave to pack her possessions. When it came time to leave they boarded separate carts, Chopper pointedly taking the cart that did not have Erin sitting beside its driver, and Sharn followed Abigail when she chose differently.

"Shit," Abigail swore when she saw Kyle and Rathley join Chopper.

Sitting next to her Sharn could see Abigail's hands trembling, though whether in anger or out of physical need she didn't know. "They're just going to try and talk some sense into her, Abby-girl. Believe me, Kyle's on you're side, and Rathley's probably just gone to wind her up."

"D-did you know too?" Abigail accused, glaring not into Sharn's eyes but at her jacket.

"About the Buffout?" Sharn shook her head. "No, I didn't know. If I had done I wouldn't have been so worried about you! And I *was* worried, you know."

Abigail just looked down at the cart floor. "What? How could it be *worse*?"

"You could be sick. I mean, really sick." Sharn answers simply. "Maybe that place was killing you inside, with the slaving and all. Chopper could have been taking something out on you."

"She was, Sharn!" Abigail spat, suddenly angry again. "She knew. She knew I couldn't do it on my own, and she just *watched*! She didn't help, she just wanted to see me struggle!"

"Abby, that's not true. Chopper isn't kind, but she's not that cruel either. Not unless someone deserves it."

Abigail looked at her with very serious eyes. "What if she thinks I *do* deserve it?" then she looked back down at the wood. "I get it, I screwed up. Again. But she could have helped me! She could have... said something, at least."

"We would have helped if you'd told us," Sharn replied softly. "I *wanted* to help. I just didn't know how I could."

Abigail remained quiet for a long time after that, and Sharn thought it best that she let her digest what they had said. The problem was that Sharn didn't know why Chopper hadn't spoken up. Chopper was a brutal woman at times, but she spouted her overblown ideas about good health and drug use at anyone who would listen, given the chance. Why would she sit back and do nothing now?

Then, several minutes later. Abigail opened up her bag and pulled out the white bottle that must have held the Buffout. "You can help. You can get rid of these. Just take them away already!"

The rest of the cart watched as Abigail thrust the squat plastic bottle into Sharn's hands.

"Hey, if you're giving shit like that away I'll take 'em!"

Sharn glared at the man. "No. She'll sell them to you." Sharn tipped out the six remaining pills into her palm. "Six tabs, that looks like twelve hundred caps trade to me, Merc."

The man in question hissed through his teeth, while Abigail looked on in disbelief at their apparent value.

The Merc did not seem wholly convinced, or perhaps was not well off enough to consider it, and several others in the cart were eyeing the little green pills now, so Sharn turned up her saleswoman's approach. "Or 220 a piece if you don't want the bulk discount. After all, this is what helped our Abby take down the Hearts' *first* super mutant without taking a scratch!"

Several trades later and Sharn handed Abigail two pouches of caps, a pair of full ten mil armour piercing clips and a pistol to go with them. "There. Now, do you think you're going to be okay?"

The Merc who had given up his spare sidearm and ammo for three of the pills seconded Sharn's genuine concern, "Yeah, you're a brave one, girl. Buffout crash is a killer."

Abigail just nodded, shaking just a little more, and this time in trepidation. "So I'm told."

Sharn draw her into a hug, and in no time at all Abigail was clinging back tightly. "Its okay, Abby-girl. You'll be fine, and we'll help if you need it, Kyle and me. I'm sure Chopper will too."

Abigail shook her head, buried against Sharn's shoulder. "No. I don't care about her. It was all a lie, and I don't need her any more."

Sharn didn't know whether she could believe that about Chopper or not. Chopper wasn't that good at hiding her intentions, Sharn was sure. But then Sharn had never been convinced of this 'hidden angel' beneath Chopper's coarse skin either, so maybe Chopper was a better manipulator than she ever let on. "Oh, Abby-girl."

But for Abigail's sake she wouldn't let herself believe that. Not yet.

000

"She didn't last long. I'm surprised. She seemed nice."

Chopper looked up from where she sat her small bed, in Giltford's smallest hotel. Most of Erin's mercenary army, now three men stronger again, were camped out with the wagons, but those with the caps to spare had bought themselves proper lodgings for the night's stay.

Erin, now standing in the doorway, had bought a room next to hers. Abigail was spending the night in a different hotel, and Erin had noticed.

Chopper had no desire to explain herself, or debate the situation with anyone, Erin least of all. But after Kyle's lecture and Rathley's verbal abuse - both responded to in kind - Chopper was worryingly willing to humour someone who might actually listen. "'Nice' isn't what it takes. She knows that. *You* know that."

Since she had got a response Erin closed the door behind her. "She doesn't know you very well, does she?"

"She knew. She thought she knew better." Chopper's look turned annoyed. At Abigail, at Erin, at Kyle and Rathley. Even at herself. "She didn't."

Erin moved closer, her intentions obvious to Chopper, and Chopper batted away the arm that reached out to her. "She didn't bother listening. That's a problem you two seem to share."

And, predictably, Erin's lip began to tremble. "D-damn it, Marie! You w-won't even give me a c-chance?"

This was exactly Erin's problem, in Chopper's eyes. The girl wanted a crutch. She didn't need one; she was strong willed enough. She just *wanted* to be weak, to be protected by others. She didn't *want* to stand up for herself. It was a wonder that she had worked up the backbone to lead these mercenaries herself.

And Erin *didn't* listen to Chopper's wishes. "And how many times have I told you not to call me that?"

"It's your name!" Erin retorted, losing her composure. "I love your name! I love you! I never stopped! Your little vault-girl doesn't care any more, but I do!"

It was then that Erin's tears broke loose, and flooded down her face. "Father is dead, there are Hearts in my home, and I don't even know if they've left any of my friends alive! You... You're all I got right now, Marie! Can't you even pretend that you care?"

Chopper felt her angry resolve waver. Yes, this was just like Erin, but she *had* suffered enough to reduce anyone to tears. And to lose her father, that was the worst. He had been a good man. Not a man she had towed the line with, but a good man none the less. She didn't need to pretend when it came to caring about that loss. She stood and, ignoring Erin's wet, surprised stare, she took the young woman in her arms at let her cry.

"At least get rid of his damned head. It can't be doing you any good.

Erin only squeezed her tighter, and cried harder.

000

To be continued...

000

Author's Rant: What the hell is it with ff dot net constantly screwing with even the most basic plain text formatting? First asterisks are stripped out entirely, then they're fine as scene breaks again all of a sudden, and now it's changed yet again and I have to resort to using zeros because both asterisks and dashes are yanked out if I try to use either as a scene break, but they're fine in the text itself? I'm reduced to using "find" - "replace all" *yet again* to post intelligible fics on this site, but now I'm restricted to number characters? What the hell! I don't want to use off-center embedded lines that span the whole page. I just want unmodified plain text! How is that hard? At least be consistent and don't change formatting specifics every six months! Rant over.

Post Author's Rant Rant!: And you strip them all out of of my past chapters as well! WHAT THE HELL! I have to go over, modify and re-upload ALL of my fics to make them readable again! No, that's just plain unreasonable. If anyone wants to read any of my past fics just go to my website, linked to from my profile page here. It's all up there, readable, and formatted as I'd written it: for easy of reading and/or archiving on any machine. I'll still upload here for new chapter notification, and format them to be readable until this site decides to change its stupid code yet again, but I'm not uploading my old stuff again.

Anyway, please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2010


	16. Abstinence with the Hearts on Yonder

After the Vault: Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

000

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 16

Abstinence with the Hearts on Yonder

Abigail had not seen any of Giltford as their wasteland army had marched in. She woke in a cold sweat, the morning bustle of merchants and mercenaries not matching the sounds of her old room in Robert's public house. The ceiling was strange white plaster and the bed was too small, and why on earth was she shivering with cold the middle of the desert?

Well, she was shivering, but whether it was *because* of the cold she didn't know. It was the uncomfortable clinging sweat that was chilling her, the sun yet to warm the land as it began to rise from the distant mountains, and the shivers... Those she would have to weather, for now. At least she had been mindful enough not to drown her sorrows that night, or who knew *what* sort of state she would have been in.

It was bad enough that she awoke so early as it was. She felt dull headed and sluggish on the best of mornings, and the early sunlight that shone in through the window, though not direct, was still bright enough to make her squint painfully to find her shades.

Why hadn't she thought to close the wooden shutters before collapsing?

Maybe she had wanted the sun to complain about when she woke. A bad plan, in retrospect. Now she had not only the hour and the light to drain her spirit, but with her little green pills well and truly gone her limbs might have been made of lead, and she felt as weak and cowardly as she drew herself from the foreign bed, trembling like a leaf.

She washed as best she could in the tin that she had been left with the night before, the cold water doing nothing for her shivers, but better that than remain foul and sweating for the rest of the day. For once she did not put her jumpsuit back on, but tossed it in the tin afterwards. Maybe she could ask for some soap, or a cup of ancient detergent, but the suit needed washing regardless. Maybe it could dry as they travelled. Or she could hang it out of the window, if she had long enough before their troop made the final leg back to Corva.

Corva, under raider control. Now they were so close, Abigail dreaded to see what might have become of it. Or of the people who had been kind enough to befriend her.

It was better not to think about that, and instead go to find that soap. The landlord did have some, thankfully, and Abigail was used enough to the smell of those brahmin-fat cakes to be grateful for it. It was even scented with some sort of seed oil, which made the tedious task of scrubbing her suit with it that bit less depressing. At least the activity seemed to calm her shakes.

She was done and hanging the suit to dry when a knock came at the door. She really didn't need the interruption now she was up and putting herself to work, so while it might have distracted her more pleasantly she didn't bother to answer.

And naturally the knock came again. "Abby-girl? Are you still in bed?"

Of course, it was the one person in the town who she did want to see. Or at least, whose company would actually be welcome.

"No. I'm up." She hung her clothes out as best she could as Sharn opened the door.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

Abigail smiled, trying to put a brave face on her lethargic, simpering despondency. I'll be okay, she would answer. Or, I'm feeling better now. I'm dealing with it. It'll be fine.

"... Pretty bad."

Well done Abigail, she chastised herself. Her smile faltered, and with it so did Sharn's, becoming a look of sympathy. Great. Look what you've done now. Very mature, Abigail. Nice start to the day, for both of you. "Sorry. I'll... I'll live."

Sharn seemed to ignore her apology and came in, full of care and concern. "I'm sorry, Abby-girl. Come on, we'll get you some breakfast. You'll feel better with some energy in you."

Abigail hoped that would work, because energy was the last thing she had right now. "S-sure. Thanks, Sharn."

"Any time."

000

Breakfast had helped, if only for a little while. Abigail had eaten silently, glad that the food had managed shift the cloying taste of rat fur from her mouth. Not that she was given to licking live rats to supplement her diet of dead and roasted ones, but it was what she imagined they must have tasted like. If possible the new lack of synthetic stimulants in her diet was making her morning breath even worse.

The brahmin milk, cheese and unleavened bread was good though, and more than enough to make the day seem less forbidding. She still wanted to brush her teeth thoroughly afterwards, but voicing that intention would have likely set a certain someone off.

Instead she left quietly, the caravans already packing up by the time they had finished eating, and Abigail was among the last to board. Thankfully Sharn had once again chosen to travel separately from Chopper – Kyle with her this time, being one of the few to change carts – and Abigail joined them.

It wasn't long into the trip that her withdrawals began to get the better of her though. While it was hot in the cart, her cloak pulled over her against the morning sun, her shivers returned, and no matter how she clenched her fists beneath the cloak they would not cease.

Sharn was among the first to notice, sitting next to her near the back of the cart. "Hey, Abby-girl? You're not cold, are you?" she asked, as furtively as she could.

She took one of Abigail's trembling hands, but it didn't help. Though friendly, it only served to make her more uncomfortably warm. "No, I'm not cold."

With that said Sharn could work out the rest and pulled back. She still kept hold of Abigail's hand though, out of some sense of solidarity.

Though Sharn had been quiet for Abigail's sake, it was not long before the depth of her problem was clear enough even to those who had not noticed already. This was the point that Abigail had always given in before. The shivering, though not severe, was uncontrollable, and only drained what little energy she had left. Her empty muscles began to ache, becoming a burden as she breathed. She wanted desperately to sleep, except that there was no tiredness in her mind. Just a vast, infinite world pressing down on her, and making her feel like an invalid surrounded by so many large, powerful soldiers.

"Hey, looks like you got it bad, Vault Girl." It was the man who had paid for her pills with his second gun. "Been on the Buffout a while, huh?"

Abigail looked up at him, his prying enquiry making her feel nauseous. Getting inside her head like that, where it was private; a place for her to suffer through her personal trials.

"Don't worry," he continued, all friendly smiles. "A few days of hell, and you'll be right as rain."

A few *days*! She didn't know how long withdrawal was supposed to take, but her first morning of proper sickness wasn't even over and she felt ready to keel over. She didn't know whether she could last days. Her insides knotted at the thought, each muscle throbbing as it did, and Abigail whimpered as she realised what her body was trying to do.

"Abby-girl!"

Sharn mad a grab for her, but all she got was the girl's cloak as Abigail tipped herself out of the back of the cart, to land awkwardly on the dusty ground. Her shoulder and hip burst into a bloom of pain that spread their dull, aching agony all through her right side, but Abigail forced herself onto her hands and knees so that she could vomit into the sand.

Each pull of her stomach made her cry out, and whatever fuss was made over her desertion was just noise behind her. In no time a pair of hands came to hold her shoulders and pull her braid back from her face, little the worse for her illness, but Abigail shrank away from them as she threw up. The last thing she wanted now was company.

"It's okay, Abby-girl," Sharn said as she rubbed Abigail's shoulders, sounding lost as to what else to do. "Kyle, have you got some water?"

Then that friendly, invasive voice joined them. "Come one, Abby, is it? Get it all up."

He placed a hand on her back before patting her pained stomach, and Abigail instantly retched again. God, if it had hurt before it was like torture now, her stomach and throat burning more each time they contracted. She started to cry as the man once again pressed on her stomach, its only reaction to contort once again and throw up what little remained inside.

"Give her a break already!" Kyle objected, but the Merc remained undeterred.

"If it doesn't happen now, it will later. Better get it out as soon as possible, so she only has to do it once. I know, girl," he added. He seemed to be trying to sound kind as Abigail sobbed through her discomfort, but all she wanted was to be finished. "But trust me, I've been there, and it's better this way. Now come one, a couple more, make sure you're done."

000

"I have to say, I wondered why you'd be here," Hickman admitted, speaking to Abigail even though she had not been taking part in their history lesson on her lost and lamented Vault 42. "Can't say I blame you after that."

The pain in Abigail's stomach and side had receded into a dull, enervating throb. After the indignity of puking her guts out Kyle had given her some water to re-hydrate her, though she'd just been grateful for something to take away the taste of bile, and he'd picked her up so that they could catch back up to the cart. Now she sat safely between him and Sharn at the back, Sharn once again holding her hand in the hope that it would comfort her.

After far too many furtive glances and whispered comments Sharn had also stood up for her and told them the tale of their exploits, going all the way back to what she knew of Vault 42's downfall. Abigail was surprised how complete her knowledge was, combined with the odd addition from her boyfriend. The assorted Mercs and do-gooder soldiers seemed to put more stock into the rumours of the small, black clad and shade wearing vault girl warrior now, even if she was still sick and quivering in front of them.

Abigail certainly didn't *feel* like she was living up to the image she had crafted for herself, but at least she had control of her body again, and all the talk was a welcome distraction from her aching belly.

"Why did you buy them?" she asked the apparently pleasant Merc who had tortured her insides, and who had at last introduced himself as Hickman. "If you had to suffer this, why would you want more Buffout? Give up your gun for them."

Hickman was one of those Mercs who looked after himself, keeping his hair cut neatly and shaving his thin, angular jaw like Kyle did. His confident smile was all the more handsome for it. "There's a time and a place for everything, Abigail. Given what I've heard about Corva's problem, I don't think an extra couple of dozen bullets and a backup gun are going to be what keep me alive in there. In a town war like this? You can probably loot back half the ammo you use, and if my H-K packs in," he held up a sub-machine gun much like the one Abigail knew Chopper kept beneath her heavy coat, "then I'll pry another gun out of the Hearts' dead hands."

He held up one of the pills, though securely so that the men either his of him couldn't snatch it. "This, dear though it might have been," he gave Sharn a knowing look, "is a surer bet. If I get pinned down, or God forbid I meet one of those big green S.O.B.s you lot talk about, I'll still be fighting. Maybe take a bullet or two, but as long as they don't cap me on the first shot, I'll take them down."

"Heroic bastard, aren't you?" said the one other Merc woman in the cart, her voice contemptuous of his obvious confidence and lack of doubt.

"You ever tried to kill a guy who's been on this?" Hickman asked in return. "If it's not a kill shot, it's damn near impossible to stop him." He lifted up his shirt, and Abigail turned away, her stomach churning again. The man's entire torso was a mess of scars and old, healed bullet wounds. Rathley's scars were bad, but nothing like this.

"'Course, you've got to learn to keep your head too," he admitted. "That was from before I knew better, but I still got up after taking this lot. The Diamonds didn't." He laughed, as if it was a heroic tale someone else had told him. Not something he'd only just managed to survive. "Two rounds of buckshot and half a clip of ten mil. Cost me a lung, most of my liver and a put more stitches in my stomach than you'd ever want to see. This stuff might have been all that was keeping me alive while they stitched me back up. Chopper and the girl she had back then."

"Chopper did it?" Sharn asked, surprised, and Abigail shared the sentiment.

"In Steel Point, down south, about eight years ago? Nasty battle, that one. That's the problem with Buffout though: it makes you reckless too. Takes a while to learn how to throttle back, and by then... well."

After that several of the Mercs joined in with him in boasting about their old wounds, though none could compare to Hickman's in blood curdling severity. They were all in far better physical shape for it than him though, and he admitted it freely. His injuries had cost him a lot of his stamina, and he could not take on the more energetic jobs or posts because they would leave him breathless.

Next to him at the rear of the cart his friend and point-man Charles 'Charlie' Winters listened to his story, and those of the others with patient good humour, but he did not tell any stories of his own. He was content to explain himself as a scout and forward pistol-man, and a talented one by Hickman's claims, but his key to winning a fight was not in collecting war wounds and anecdotes, but in making sure his enemies had not seen him before he had the chance to shoot them.

The woman, Vas, was likewise serious and straightforward, though far more willing to boast. She was discomfortingly eager to relate the tales of her various marks and victims, and how she would surprise each one, killing them with the specific tool she felt best suited them. She was a bounty hunter first and foremost, and Abigail sincerely hoped that she knew there was no longer any reward for Rathley's head in Micasa.

Vas also did not exaggerate when she spoke of just how many different weapons she had at her disposal, and was more than willing to show off a few of the more rare and wicked ones. The 'Ripper' in particular looked horrific – a foot long single edged chainsaw, essentially, but crafted and weighted specifically to be swung in combat and powered by a micro-fusion cell of all things. Vas had a particularly dark look when she said it was reserved for the human monsters who deserved it most.

Sitting at the front of the cart Simon and Trevor were brothers, twins in fact, both far younger than the rest of the Mercs, and perhaps even younger than Abigail. They had tales to tell and scars to show though, and for them this little war was a personal matter. They had been trained as caravan guards by their father in the same company, Simon being the head shooter with his pistol and hunting rifle, while Trevor had a little more muscle in his shoulders, carrying a full sized double barrel shotgun. It was Trevor who had also bought one of the Buffout pills with most of his caps, and he was grateful to talk to Hickman about when and how best to take the stuff. He had intended to ask the Merc who had first offered to take them, but that man had swapped carts with Kyle for this leg of the trip, apparently put out that Sharn had taken the initiative to sell them at the notable price she had.

The boys had lost their father to the Hearts, as many sons of caravan guards did. They were bitter, and eager to take as much revenge as the raiders would provide targets for, but Kyle, Sharn, Hickman and Charlie were all on hand to talk them into a more careful state of mind after the pair had riled themselves up.

They were good boys, Abigail had to admit, and for Mercs Hickman and Charles seemed much more pleasant than some she could remember. She hoped that they at least would be able to survive what they were walking into.

000

The caravan made good progress, barely stopping at Micasa to recruit a few more men the following day, which Kyle was all the more grateful for. His recent falling out with his home town had left a mark on both of them, and their company wisely chose to put up with each other for those few hours rather than return to meet what friends they had there and risk bringing the law back down on them. He would have liked to see Kana, Frank, and especially Elspeth again, but while Rathley might not be worth any caps now, the town guards' pride was likely still shot full of holes where they were concerned.

Though it was a distance from there to Corva, even by cart, they covered most of it by nightfall. The morning would see them up and on again, to reach the speck that was Corva just as high sun hit. That would be the ideal time to insert themselves back into Corva; lacking in shadows to cling to, but likely too hot for over-indulgent hedonists like the Hearts to mobilise properly against them. As long as they overpowered whatever welcoming committee did meet them they could disperse into the town to meet up with the various groups that Erin hoped would still be holding out.

That was for tomorrow though, and the night ahead was for preparation and reflection. One of the Mercs had a cell powered lantern to give them light as they went over their weapons and ammunitions supplies, while the rest sat around their modest fire. Actions had to be checked, several guns were broken open and cleaned, and even Abigail had shakily gone over her .38 revolver, separating out her two options for ammunition, and bartered for a holster that would fit her newly acquired 10 mil pistol. She seemed to think that the armour piercing bullets she had for it might be useful, though against what, Kyle didn't know. That she was willing to carry it ready at all surprised him, considering she already had the .38 in one pocket and her preferred knives in the other.

Kyle had been among those who hadn't checked their weapons. He kept his in good order as a matter of routine, and he did not like to manhandle his guns without reason. Several others with him obviously didn't care, joking amongst themselves about the gun freaks caring for their little babies, but Kyle hadn't joined them in their amusement. Better they cleaned their neglected guns before a fight than not at all.

More interesting to him was Erin's preparations. She said little to them, beyond asking them to be ready to fight come sun up, and instead she retired away from the camp. From there she watched them in nervous silence, and listened.

That the fight was so close was bringing out the girl's nerves, and not without reason. Their merchant driver also voiced his second thoughts, willing to fight the good fight against the Hearts, but reluctant to die now that death was such a near possibility. The twins, Trevor and Simon remained as brave and outspoken as ever next to professional soldiers who had since gone quiet.

One by one, fearful or not, their company turned in under the stars. Some were content just to lie back by the fire and sleep as they were, while others pitched their tents or crawled into their well used bed rolls. Kyle did neither, letting Sharn get to bed ahead of him. Instead he lay back in the cart, next to Charlie's silently dozing body, and continued to watch. Rathley had long since packed his sun glasses away in his pocket and fallen asleep in the dust, but Chopper still sat hunched over, staring into the fire, every now and then her gaze shifting to Abigail and Sharn's tent.

"Hypocrite," Kyle muttered, amused. Chopper was a practical woman, arrogant and sure of herself, and yet for the year that he had travelled with her had she ever been content when she had not been in love? Not just getting laid - that was Rathley's drug - but actually romancing either Erin or Abigail. Now her straight talking had set Abigail against her, and maybe with just cause, but while she could freely ignore the feelings of others, she could not ignore her own.

Chopper sat there, so clearly wanting to return to their tent, and each time forcing herself back. Was it out of her own self-defeating rancour with the girl, or just worry that Abigail would remain cold even if she did try? Either way, despite their argument Chopper *hadn't* fallen out of love with the girl this time, and it was coming back to bite her.

And up in the driver's seat of Kyle's cart, Erin sat just as Chopper did, caught in just the same trap as the contrary woman below.

Strange how that had worked out, Kyle decided, before doing what Chopper clearly wanted to and joining the girls in their tent for the night.

000

"Okay, now these two wires here, what are they?"

Abigail looked over the water filtration mechanics that the wires ran from. The machine's back was a mess of unlabeled switches, dials and valves, its circuit boards hidden away in their tight little access pipe.

"Water pressure and overflow controls?"

Next to her Marcus smiled. It was difficult to see his face, and not just because they were working by flash-light. She just couldn't seem to see it clearly. Maybe she needed glasses. But even so, it was a familiar, safe face that smiled at her.

Or maybe she was starting to forget what he'd looked like.

"Got it in one, Jinx. See how they're fused at the water chip contact? No wonder we're getting impure water coming through. This whole board needs checking every month at least. If we don't clean it up this kind of thing will burn out the chip. Maybe replace the overflow wire and connectors while we're at it. This is the third time it's gone this year."

It was strange how clear his voice was, kind but authoritative, when his features seemed so vague. The pipe too, it was familiar in its confines, but surely it was too bare for being behind the water processing units.

She could still find her way around the circuit board though, and soon enough they were done for the day.

"So, what do you have planned tonight?" Marcus asked, sounding genuinely interested. "Not another vote down at the cinema, I assume."

Abigail laughed. They had done that far too much recently, even if they had got their way as often as not. "No, Alice wants to go down to the library, and she's put up with our film-fest for long enough!"

"Now there's a girl you should be emulating," Marcus said in approval. "That night owl Gillian is a bad influence on you."

Abigail disagreed. Gillian was different. Special. Maybe one day she would tell her as much, but not today. Today was book day, though only two of them would have actual print and paper books in their hands.

Much of Vault 42s library was electronic, with large chunky consoles lining the walls, and each isle dotted with electronic reading screens. Dee had a real book in her hands, her chubby face as bland and faded as Marcus', and her voice faint and nondescript, but her laugh... oh that laugh was clear, ringing like music through the library as she squealed over her romance novel. Jaqueline had read that book before, and smiled in knowing amusement. It was a clear smile. Abigail had always liked Jaqueline's lips. She was not really all that pretty, but she remembered those well shaped lips, and the gentle words that would come from them. "Oh, has the Count made his move then?"

"Yes! Haha! It's *gorgeous*."

Karen and Patricia were staring at the screen readers, making their own observations as they went. Abigail joined them. Those two weren't so keen on the library, but when they went they were their own little two-girl book club. Or three girl, in this case.

It was sad, but it seemed that Karen had nearly gone. She had always been the quietest of them, but Abigail couldn't make out what her voice sounded like now, or the colour of her eyes, or the shape of her simple hair. She just knew that she was there.

Patricia was clearer, but was now something of a caricature; all outspoken views and long term plans, and gossip about the strong, masculine men on security team.

Abigail joined them though, because they were friends, and it was a good book that they were reading. The other two in Abigail's tomboy sub division had more important - and as Dee put it, dull - things to read. Alice had been after a read of some old surface law drama for weeks, the hefty volume file still only half finished, while Gillian was studying. She had time before her own tech shift to swat up on her fusion conduction mechanics. She was going into the reactor rooms today.

But God, the two of them; still so clear and vibrant in front of her dreaming mind. The clear, brilliant eyes that let slip Alice's intelligence behind her short hair and pleasant demeanour, and the knowing, crafty smirk that never quite left Gillian's lips. Abigail might no longer be able to find where the library kept its real print books, or just how many screens there were to an aisle, but Alice and Gillian were still there in every little detail and mannerism.

"Say, Abigail? Do you think Connor is really as evil as he's made out to be?"

Abigail was brought back to her book, and for that one moment she could hear Karen's voice. That sweet, guileless, ever hopeful voice, and though she might have forgotten the girl's eyes, at least she still had this much left of her dear, missing friend.

000

Waking from that blissful dream to cold, bright reality made Abigail's head reel and her stomach turn. The tracks of happy, unconscious tears chilled her cheeks. She rubbed her eyes on the sleeve of her jumpsuit, and even that little movement was weak and painfully stiff.

But, she thought as she reached for her glasses, what did it matter now? She knew what awaited her if she tried to eat, and her wretched sickness seemed only to be getting worse before it got better. At least she could enjoy lying down, not having to move for a little longer.

Her bitterness was not reserved just for her self-pity though. In the last few days she had not been the only one bartering away drugs, and observing them all exchanging stimpaks, pills or performance enhancing syringes, it made her past addiction seem all the more wasteful. Caps were a widely fluctuating currency she was still figuring out, even after months of using them, but thinking of the small fortune she had eaten in Buffout over those past weeks was horrifying. That one band of Hearts she had scavenged them from had provided her more money in drugs than any of the others had looted in arms and armour – they had probably doubled her already notable worth in bottle caps. She had not told any of the Mercs just how many she had found, but she got the impression that a haul like hers, almost two dozen tabs in one go, was a rich find indeed.

Even the power and confidence they had given her hadn't been worth throwing away so much money. She might even have been able to buy Sharn that sniper's rifle she had asked about from the late Mayor Golway.

Once again, did it matter now though? She couldn't undo her mistake. She just had to live with it, however unpleasant that might be. She needed to rise above her self-pity, or else what would her parents, Gillian and the rest of them think?

She staggered to her feet with a groan and dressed herself as best she could. She was beginning to see how Sharn could venerate the ghosts of her ancestors. There was a certain emotional logic to it after a dream like that.

000

If she was tired and drawn from the last week's trials, she was not the only one. She had managed to pack her things and make it to their cart, but that was all she was capable of before she collapsed in the back, and overhearing the driver talk it seemed their animals were not faring much better.

"I know we need to get there quickly," the man told an anxious Erin, "but my brahmin have just made a five day caravan trip in little over two and a half. They are exhausted, and there wasn't much scrub for them to eat last night either."

"They're brahmin," Erin argued. "They'll be fine."

"Of course they will! But they'll only be able to take us a fast as they can. Ask Higgs," he said, pointing to Erin's own hired driver. "He'll tell you the same."

Off to the side Kyle had cornered Chopper, and while Abigail's body had returned to its old, useless state, her ears were still good.

"Chopper, come on, at least take a look at her. She can barely walk on her own."

A pause, before the answer. A surprisingly plain answer.

"Just make sure she drinks plenty. There's nothing else to do."

By the time everyone was loaded up Erin had conceded defeat, and their packed two-cart convoy got underway at the best speed its beasts of burden to comfortably manage.

"Abby-girl, you did have something to eat, right?"

Abigail smiled up at Sharn from where she sat slumped beside her. As the morning was wearing on she was finding it harder to sit up against the rumbling of the cart, and her breathing was laboured because of it.

"I did," she sighed, grateful for Sharn's concern but wishing the kind woman wouldn't worry quite so much. It made her far too attractive. "I had some water, and a bit of bread. Hopefully that will stay down."

Opposite her Charles spoke to Sharn and Kyle, though not quietly enough to avoid her ears. "She's in no state to fight. You know that right?"

Hickman agreed. "She won't be recovering before we get into the town."

Abigail groaned, using what little energy she had to sit up again. She soon wished she hadn't, her limbs and back complaining almost instantly, but she put her hand into her jacket pocket to pull out one of her knives. She held it out in front of them, as if to throw it, but her hand was trembling far too much to steady on its own.

She let the hand drop, and slumped against Sharn's side, her breathing heavy again. "I guess you might be right. After all," she admitted, giving Kyle a tired, self-deprecating smile, "I can hardly walk on my own."

Kyle shared the smile, but there was more pity than humour behind it. Pity for little fallen Abigail.

"Sharn? Do you mind if I take a nap?" Abigail asked finally. "I'm so tired."

It was only physical, but maybe she would be fit for something in Corva if she rested on the way there. Even if all she could manage was getting off the cart and finding a safe place to hide, that was better than being carried from it.

Sharn hesitated, perhaps wondering along similar lines, before she agreed. "Sure, Abby-girl. I'll wake you before we get there."

"Thanks, Sharn. I promise I won't slow you down."

"Of course not. Just get some more rest."

000

"Abby-girl. Abby-girl, time to get up."

Sharn's every instinct wanted not to wake the sick, sleeping girl who lay curled up with her head in her lap. Abigail needed the rest, and not one of Sharn's long dead ancestors would have advised her otherwise.

The problem was that time was not on their side, and this was one cart-drawn arrival that the girl could not afford to sleep through.

"We're here," she soothed, as Abigail looked up at her with dull, bloodshot eyes. It was perhaps unkind to ask, but Sharn had to, if only to give voice to her painful concern. "Are you feeling any better?"

Abigail swallowed, as if tasting something unpleasant. "Uh, a little, I think."

Sharn looked over to her beloved, who offered Abigail their flask of water. "Here."

Thankfully Abigail did not refuse and took a few gentle sips. Sharn thought Abigail had been looking very sheepish and timid since the whole Buffout ordeal had come to light – not her normal vibrant self at all, or even her more recent closed off but still capable self - and it was nice to see her accepting the help now.

The voice that soon followed didn't sound like the Abigail that Sharn had been such fast friends with though. Not the brave, reckless, naive girl who had picked herself out of the irradiated dirt and become a wastelander.

"Is that Corva?"

Yes, it was. Not the wide caravan entrance, but the northern side, where the poorer homes and ghoul quarter lay. It looked as though nothing had happened there, but smoke rose from fires deeper in, hopefully small and isolated, and the guard tower furthest from them on the south side had been annihilated. Only the bare wooden supports of it remained.

"Yes, that's my town," Erin said in a trembling voice from the front of the cart. "It looks better from this side."

"They wrecked the south side?"

Sharn started to pay attention as they conversation turned to matters that would be more useful to their insurgency.

"Some of it. Half of them came through there. We knew they were coming, more than we could handle before they got inside, but they had explosives. They left the east tower intact, but destroyed most of Main Street once they were past it. Just for the fucking sake of it." The curse that flew from Erin's proper lips stung like Radscorpion venom.

"They destroyed the stalls, or the buildings too?" Sharn asked. It looked intact enough from where they were, but if they were to be fighting in wreckage then she would need to know. Being able to shoot from a building made for a different fight to skirmishing among ruins. She had already saved Erin from the Diamonds from the safety of a rooftop once, and being able to set up attacks such as that made for a quicker, cleaner fight.

"Both," Erin rasped, the reasons behind the question evidently lost on her. "They beat the traders and shot the guards, and smiled as they wasted their bombs on the Main Line Inn."

"What about the rest of the town?" asked Hickman, his mind obviously working the same way as Sharn's. "How much of it will they have razed?"

Erin groaned, evidently not wanting to think in those terms. "I don't know. Not much. It can't have been much, beyond Main Street. That man, Jackhammer," she spat out his name like another piece of poisonous refuse, "he told me he was taking the town, so why destroy it? And how many explosives can they have? I don't know how they did it, but it would take more than one of Stephanie's grenades to level a building like the Main Line.

"But they could," Vas noted, her interest in the raiders' methods seeming almost academic. "That can't be cheap."

"And the mutants will have heavy weapons," Kyle added. He put the Heart's secret weapons into a wastelander's perspective. "Our one had Brotherhood level firepower, and could still use it after a rifle shot to the skull."

Sharn was brought back to her more personal worries as Abigail straightened and coughed. "Abby?"

"The Super Mutants," she volunteered, "maybe... They used explosives when they broke into my vault."

"So maybe they supplied the raiders," Simon surmised, while his brother had slightly different theory.

"Or they might be the only ones using them. The ones at your vault were carrying all their own supplies, right?"

Kyle spoke up again, less concerned with the details and more the larger picture. "Either way, they have them. We'll find out soon enough whether these two Super Mutants could supply the Hearts' combined numbers."

He elaborated, if only for Abigail's benefit, and those few who had not had to deal with the Hearts before. "They are *not* usually that well armed, so hopefully we can start dealing with them properly before they realise what's going on and get their act together. If they have been equipped by the Super Mutants, then we need to *see* how, before we can make proper plans."

Indeed, there was not a raider in sight, and Sharn was impressed at the lack of raider reception as they moved in past the first houses. The two carts were taking separate routes in, to meet up with different groups Erin expect to have come together, and in known defensible positions in the town. It was not a situation that had been planned for in detail, but many major names and regular mercenaries in the town knew what they would do if it ever came to this, as did Erin. The raiders' inability or unwillingness to meet them with guns drawn now either meant that their high-noon plan had paid off, or that the Hearts had become complacent in these last two weeks. She had noticed that there had been no-one in the still standing watchtower at their north end of the town, only at the main entrance on the east side.

A gunshot rang out from across the town, followed by three more in concert. Though it made them start, at least it proved that someone was still resisting, and Sharn hoped that whoever it was had been successful.

Either that or it was one of the Hearts having a bad Psycho trip. They were known for that sort of thing.

"There is a private warehouse up ahead," Erin explained, when she was asked as to their cart's plan. "It's as big underground as it is above. The men that own it store building materials there, to shore up or expand this district. They could also hide fifty people down there, and supplies for them, if they didn't want to evacuate. If I already have a worker's army, this is where they will be."

000

There was no living army to meet them. Abigail did not venture from the cart to see it, instead content to watch for trouble as best she could outside, but what they described upon their return was the same image that had been burned into Abigail's mind for over a month. The dreams had subsided, and the gory memories been replaced by their subsequent battles and hardships, but the carnage wrought by a minigun was still an image that leapt into her mind all too quickly.

Many men *had* tried to make a stand, and organise themselves against the Hearts. It had just been done and discovered too soon for it to help Erin. The girl had come out in tears, but it was still her who the rest looked to for direction.

"We... we try the pump house. And the rat sheds, and Marge's. Some of them must have survived, even if they had to surrender!"

The pump house was better, thankfully, but only in being so barren. Being the only place to get water in the town besides the frequent water traders it had been wishful thinking that Erin's armed friends might have held it. It was too important in a crisis, and too close to the market street, but anyone who had died for it had been taken away already. Being high sun there was no-one there standing guard, and the Mercs could search the place without worry.

"Should we stop here then, and hold this house?" Vas asked. "If they'll have to come down here anyway, we can pick them off as they arrive. Quietly."

"A good plan," the merchant driver said, "until they cotton onto us. There's no way out if they do."

"And there's nothing but machinery inside for cover," Charlie added. "We should definitely use it for an ambush, but unless we fortify it ourselves this is nowhere to make camp. Batter we find people than a place right now."

However, while they debated inside Abigail sat hidden behind the low wall of the cart, in the fortunate position to see one lonely soul who had braved the midday sun for the sake of water for his bucket. And he did not walk well, but had the stiff stagger of a ghoul.

"Nigel?" Abigail asked, slipping from the cart and staggering out herself to meet him, forgetting her danger for the moment. "Nigel, you're still here?"

"Eh?" The old ghoul asked as she approached. "Here? Why wouldn'ts I be here? This is my home, girl. What're *you* doin' abouts here though?"

Abigail blinked, her sudden wave of rare enthusiasm ebbing. He didn't seem to remember her. "Nigel? It's me, Abigail."

"Abigail?" Then his unfocused eyes widened in recognition. "Oh! Abigail! Christian's old friend, eh? Yes, yes, I remembers you, girl. We went rat watchin' together. That was a good fight though, wasn't it? That grizzle grump Rathley still gots good moves."

Then he peered closer at her, and his patchy, greenish eyebrows curled in a frown. "But say, you don't looks so pink skinned as I remember you, girl. Them Hearts ain't done you no harm, I hopes?"

Abigail felt like crying again, and for the first time in a while it was in gratitude, that this absent minded old man had remembered her after all. She reached forward to grasp him in a hug, ignoring his pungent odour and probably putting more weight on him than his rotted bones needed, just glad to see a friendly face in the seemingly deserted town.

"Easy now girl, careful there. Don't go gettin' tangled up in me bits and bobs. Bad enough those God awful raiders gone and put a bullet in me ribs last week. Never gettin' that bit back."

"Oh God, Nigel! You were shot!"

Her appalled sympathy just seemed to amuse him. "Oh, it takes more'n a bullet to puts us down these days, girl. Don't you worry your head none. But hadn't you left? What's you doin' back already, and with all this trouble to boot."

Now the rest of the Mercs had filtered back out of the pump station, and Sharn, Kyle and Erin had all come running over to see the wandering ghoul.

"We came to help," Abigail explained. "Because of the raiders. But what about Christian, and Celia? Are they okay?"

"And where are the survivors?" Erin asked, urgency thick in her voice, "Are there still people fighting the Hearts? What parts of town are still safe to hide in?"

Nigel blinked at her, obviously recognising her. "Oh, well, here's as safe a any place, Miss Erin. Most of the peoples this side have gone, fled for the fightin', but them raiders don't bother us deaders. Gots better things to do, I'd guess."

Then he bowed respectfully, a gesture unlike any Abigail had seen before in the wasteland. "I'm sorry about your Pa, Miss Erin. We heards what happened, and it weren't right. You wants me to takes you to the rest of us? We gots some more pink skins with us too, who didn't go."

Erin nodded, finally looking a little more relieved. "Yes, please do."

Abigail beamed through her fatigue. "Thank you, Nigel."

Nigel just beamed back. "Think nothin' of it, girls. Now, just lets me fill this here bucket, and I'll be takin' you."

000

"Habigail! What are yhou dhoing back soh soon?"

Abigail felt Celia freeze as she ignored the question and staggered into another embrace so soon after she had hugged Christian. "Celia! I'm so sorry!"

Celia's sudden tension seemed to lift when Abigail hadn't recoiled back, and she stroked at Abigail's hair with her single hand, torn lips twisting into a soft smile. "Sohrry? Habigail, why sohrry?"

Abigail wept into Celia's shoulder at the memories. "I read your diaries."

"Oh. Do not whorry, Habigail. Those mhemories hold no swhay over me nhow."

Behind them Christian was greeting the others at the entrance of the Seven Feet Under clubhouse, friendly and affable as always, though mellowed by Erin's arrival. "Yeah, we've some people here," he told them. "They that didn' wan' to go into tha' desert. I's easy enough to hide 'em. I'd say we'd wan' to help an' all, but I don' know how much good a bunch of us ol' wrecks'd do to be helpin' ya'."

Erin was obviously uncomfortable around the ghouls that by contrast Abigail felt so close to, but the girl remained composed. "That's okay, uh, Christian. If you could keep some of us in here, and the rest around the ghoul quarter. I don't know how many yet, but at least twenty five. We need a safe place to make our plans."

"Surely, tha'd be no problem, Miss Erin. 'slong as you don' mind it bein' a few ol' ghoul houses, you can be usin' our club'ouse for your plannin'. The Hearts, the don' care so much where we go, so we can be tellin' you what you need to be knowin', iffn your frien's here can' be goin' about to look."

"That... that's the first good news we've had today," Erin admitted with a sigh. "Please, put up those of us here, and I will bring the rest. I know the places they would go. If Mr Hickman and Mr Winters would accompany me?"

Hickman and Charlie did so, glad that Erin had at least wanted a guard in case they came across their enemy, and they left the others to bring the ghouls and their human residents up to speed.

Most of the ghouls Abigail actually didn't know by name, she had only socialised with Christian's small circle, and their human guests she likewise hadn't met, bar one.

"Kirren?"

Abigail remembered her all too clearly. Her green mohawk had half grown out, now trailing down her back instead of standing upright, and she did not wear her tough green armour, but Abigail could not forget that pierced face with its intelligent eyes, dulled by loss. Celia sat next to the Merc woman, and Abigail could see why Celia might have wanted to befriend her. Celia had made a great effort to be friends with Abigail when they had first met, going as far as to gift her with her past PipBoy diaries and maps so that she might cope better. For Kirren it was more simple; they both had lost an arm. Kirren her left, and Celia her right.

"Abigail," Kirren greeted, evidently remembering her just as well. "You don't look like you've had it good since you left."

Abigail shuddered, knowing how bad she must have seemed, because even despite this happy reunion she surely felt it. "Yeah. I made some... bad decisions. You're looking better though."

Kirren might have been quiet and more taciturn still, but behind the resigned darkness in her eyes there was a new fire to her. Though she was not armoured, a new weapon sat at her hip, and Kirren noticed the look.

"That Steph, she can make a good gun." Kirrn picked up the tall, squared pistol to show it off. "She had it when she came along with us, remember?"

Abigail nodded. It was a rifle, cut down, re-balanced and re-fitted to be wielded as a pistol, while still retaining a surprising amount of its power and accuracy in the face of the dramatic modifications. "Her point 233 pistol, isn't it?" She allowed a small smile at Kirren's surprised expression. "Actually, I think it suits you."

"Yeah. It does."

"Ol' Kirr'n here been keepin' low, but she an' her frien's are what Miss Erin be wantin'," Christian said as he finally ambled over to join them. "She wen' and took on the Hearts when they first showe' up, and damn if she didn' throw a fit an' kill two of 'em on tha' first fightin' day. Shame there was so many of 'em or you'd've given 'em a secon' thinkin' about it, wouldn' ya girl? Still, better safe now than hasty an' dead back then, eh? Got a secon' chance to be showin' us, right?"

Kirren nodded, deadly serious. "Damn right I have. Though you don't look fit to fight, Abigail."

Abigail Sighed. It was the truth, but, "I'll be fine."

"Come, Habigail, plhease tell us, what has happened?" Celia motioned for her to join them on the couch. For anyone else Abigail would have made her excuses, but for Celia, who had suffered so much herself and still been willing to share her life's closest thoughts for Abigail's sake, there was little way she could remain quiet.

"Yeah, it don' feel good, Abby," Christian insisted, in her moment of hesitation. "Seein' ya' so pale and shakin', like the ol' hands."

He raised his own slightly unsteady fingers, and cracked her a five-toothed grin. "If ya' be willin' to tell."

Though the thought of recounting the last month herself was daunting, baring her foolishness alongside their varied exploits, she could not refuse friends like them.

000

Chopper looked about the small room that had once belonged to a ghoul, now two weeks in the grave. Properly dead this time. It was relatively normal, if spartan, as she had expected. For ones who had lived so long, and forgotten so much, they had few homely needs to make themselves comfortable. A single bed, an old wardrobe patterned with the legacy of some long forgotten fire, and dry, crumpled clothing that would never again be worn, and probably shouldn't have been for some years.

It served their needs, and Chopper wouldn't complain. A real bed, even as it was, would be preferable to a wary night in the back of their hidden cart.

She had to commend Erin for the arrangements the girl had made. Erin had no love for the ghouls of her town. Certainly not the open tolerance that her father had been gifted with in spite of the trouble they drew. However, she had seen the chance to make much needed allies and take hold of a base for themselves, and snatched both in one fell swoop. A show of good judgement on her side.

That did not mean that she appreciated the girl now stepping into her room, and closing the door behind her.

"Erin." It was a neutral greeting, and as good as the girl would get from her. Chopper was tired, frustrated, and her patience for the girl's doomed obsession had long worn thin.

"I hope you will forgive me," Erin said as she stepped inside, affecting an air of casual conversation in the small, intimate space. "There is limited room in the homes the ghouls have provided, and if I must sleep in close company with any one, I would have it be with you."

"Erin, I am in no mood for you now."

Erin obviously agreed. "No, you have not been in the mood for anyone recently. You have not joined me or your friends on our journey, and you did not entertain Rathley's comments, so I hear."

"Checking up on me then?" It was disturbing, the way Erin would always be there, and always be informed. It spoke well of her burgeoning skill as a politico and town leader, but less well as a trustworthy human being.

"Has there ever been a time I have not?" An honest reply. Far more welcome than any excuse. "Believe it or not, Marie, I gave your Abigail ample chance to be put with you. Instead she took a bed to herself, her good friends sleeping in their bedding on her floor."

Erin had always been a receptive girl, sensitive to the mood of the scene and behaving in kind as needed, but now she chose to play to her own tune, and lay down her pack and prepared for bed regardless of Chopper's inclinations.

"I am surprised you still look her way," Erin said, her words intentionally sharp edged. "If I am not up to your standards, then she has long since fallen below them."

Chopper's retort was ready without a moment's thought or preparation. "And you are pleased with your new ghoul friends, I see. They seem to have served you well, in place of most others."

Chopper felt a guilty glimmer of satisfaction as Erin paused, clearly stung by the remark. It was true enough, fewer than twenty townsmen and mercenaries had been found in the town that day, and most by the group Chopper had searched with. It was a far cry from the numbers Erin had hoped for. Whether they were dead or long departed didn't matter, one was just as damaging to their objective as the other.

"Is there any more I could have done?"

No, but that was no excuse for the weak, helpless look that grew on Erin's face. Stand up for yourself, damn it girl. Spit back some support for these people. Some fire. Look at what you *do* have! She could no longer be the damsel and expect to be rescued from her distress.

But no. Erin stood there, half out of her cloak, standing to be judged. There was nothing more that she could say to defend herself, so she did not bother. Instead she let the insult lie, and bared herself once again to the woman she loved, both in word and deed.

Chopper looked away as Erin's clothes were discarded. "Bloody hell."

"If the girl you dote on will not take you to bed, then I won't leave you to sleep alone, Marie. Tell me the truth. Do you really love her, even looking like that?"

"No. But I would, if I thought she would welcome it once she has suffered for her idiocy."

Erin, naked as she day she was born, stood still awaiting judgement. "So, you would take her even after the drugs, and the grief she caused you?"

The answer was not simple. It defied Chopper's own self imposed criteria, but it would all depend on Abigail now. She had spirit, a will to carry on regardless, somewhere beneath the weakened mess that was the girl she had adored. She was willing to hold her gun, even now. "She will have to survive it first. But if not, then she was worth it."

Erin was defeated. Her petit body sagged under the knowledge, and she raised her arms a little, hoping for some faint affirmation of the feelings that she hoped Chopper had once held for her. "Chopper? Was I worth it?"

Chopper stared at her, vulnerable and insecure, even though she had an army of fifty men at her command. Could the bright young woman she had once seduced, who had been so willing to learn and to experiment with her, be the same one who let her confidence hang on one reply from a love that had long since left her?

"No. I had expected more from you, Erin. It was a good time, I won't deny it. You were an amazing lover, but you were always content to be nothing more that you were, and you made your choices. I won't sit back and coddle you while you run your town. If you reclaim it." It was sad, that she had to repeat this again. The girl should have moved on a year ago.

It was hard to watch her cry. Erin had a strength of her own; one that had gathered these men together, and that had been willing to be both dominant and submissive in private, as their moods chose. Those tears pull at Chopper's emotions, but they undermined the woman they flowed from.

"Then... that is that. I was never enough."

Bullshit. "You were enough for me. But not for yourself. You were too eager to be dependant on everyone else, even when you so wanted to stand up yourself in this town of yours."

"That's enough." Erin didn't bother to cover herself, but she had let all pretence of desirability and seduction drop. She could not compete with Chopper at her own game. "I did mean something to you. Once."

"Yes. You did. Something significant."

"Then let me touch you, one last time. That's what you showed me. How to touch. I don't need anything in return, but you taught me how to enjoy that; touching someone else. Showing how you love them. I still love you, and your Abigail doesn't."

Erin stepped over to her, her flat, bare stomach in line with Chopper's gaze from her seat on the bed. "If this is the last chance I get... We will be fighting tomorrow, and I will have other concerns to keep me away. And afterwards, I cannot see you staying. I don't think you or Rathley would be disposed to rebuilding work."

Chopper looked up at Erin's pleading face, a face she had once adored like many others, but more than unique enough in it's own right. Adventurous, ambitious, and eager. It had taken a long time to see that those traits were acted upon only in their evenings together.

Abigail was gone, for good reason, and who knew if she would ever return? Chopper had felt herself deteriorate these last three days, and her desires were only making her more and more unsettled. Right now, with so much at stake in only one night's time, it was better that neither of them were miserable than both.

She stood, and watched Erin's eyes soften as she pulled her shirt over her head. "You can have your night, and you won't be performing alone. But once the sun rises we will smile, put on our clothes, and that will be the end of it. We can still finish this on good terms."

Chopper was glad when Erin nodded, stepping in to hold her tightly. The girl's arms were stronger that Chopper remembered, and she returned the embrace in kind. She did not know whether Erin's tears were born of grief or gratitude, but she was determined that whatever happened they would be the former before the night was out.

And consequence be damned.

000

To be continued...

000

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2010


	17. A Short Victorious Bloodbath

After the Vault: Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

000

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 17

A Short Victorious Bloodbath

Corva empty, the Hearts in residence, Mayor Golway dead and the threat of yet more Super Mutants to come was all too much to think about before the sun had even risen.

Abigail had understood the necessity, but it had not made waking before the dawn any easier. The lack of light waiting to pierce her retinas was little consolation. She had staggered through the routine of rising and dressing without even enough presence of mind to curse the lack of water to wash in. She was too tired for that, and with no promise of a long, hot bath to soothe her aching muscles it had been easier not to dwell on her personal hygiene at all. There had only been room in her mind for one thing at a time right then, and that had been put towards overcoming her physical inadequacies for the sake of the battle ahead.

That was why she put up no resistance when Sharn, Christian and Celia sat her down and placed a glass of Brahmin milk and some rat-meat sandwiches in front of her. She felt no more desire to eat now than she had done for the last two days, but managed what she could without a quarrel when her friends led by example.

It surprised her just how much gossip filled the Seven Feet Under clubhouse as people slowly filed in. Considering that some of them might not live through the day their spirits were unexpectedly high. Just 30 hours ago the trained warriors in her caravan had come over quiet and contemplative at the prospect, but now with a town war on top of them chatter flew left and right, like a flock of birds out to alleviate their worries with flitting gossip and good humour.

It did not seem in particularly good taste, considering all those who must have died already, but even Abigail seemed to lack the maudlin shadow of anticipation that had clung to her recently. Being so close to the fight, what was left but to try and eat breakfast and hope everything went well? She would not wish for good luck, because hers had always been a double edged sword, but perhaps Fate would smile on them. For all their faults, they were the good guys after all.

As proven when Simon, the young twin with the pistol at his hip and a rifle hanging from his shoulder, pulled up a chair and sat himself down in the small gap between Sharn and herself.

"Hey, uh, Abby, right?"

It surprised her that he would want to speak to her when people like Kyle and Hickman were around, but she nodded.

"Uh, I don't know the story here, but Trev and me thought you ought to know, after what the guys over there were saying. Chopper spent the night with the old Mayor's daughter. As in, 'spent the night'."

That was a surprise. Not that such a thing had happened - the rumour had reached their table twenty minutes beforehand - but that he had thought to try and break the news to her was touching, in a funny sort of way. She cracked a small smile.

"I know. What she does -and why- is her business. But thank you, Simon."

"Oh. Okay. It's just they were talking about you two, and... Anyway, the Mayor's daughter was starting to talk about who should fight where, and even Rathley agreed that Chopper would be going with you."

Again, that made sense to Abigail. "Yes, I expect she will. I suppose that we are used to working together."

"Yeah, but you aren't even 0talking0 right now. And, well, 0you're0 still sick."

Abigail didn't have a good answer for that one. "... Maybe, but I can still shoot. Even if I can't hit anything, it should scare the Hearts."

"And Abigail has reason enough not to give Chopper the time of day," Sharn added, standing up for Abigail without hesitation.

Abigail didn't disagree. "Don't worry, Simon. She's not nearly the person I thought she was, but I won't get in her way."

"But can ya' trus' her to do the same?" Christian asked from across the small table. "Tha's importan' in a gun fight, Abby."

Abigail lied. "Yeah, I think I can." Truthfully, she really didn't know though. If she couldn't trust Chopper with her heart, could she trust her with her life?

At least Chopper seemed to have understood Abigail's anger, and gone back to Erin. Maybe that would make being around her easier.

000

By the time the sun had started casting its harsh orange light into the sky every one of Erin's insurgents was already well awake and fed, and the plan of action had been decided. Though close to the Cobalt Line Corva was not a small town, and so their force would be split. With the twenty Corvan natives added to their number they could cover a lot of ground, separating into five teams that would sweep through the northern side of town and then down to converge on Main Street. It would leave the damaged south side unchecked for enemies, but would at least mean that they could clear the way to take back the police station that Jackhammer had commandeered for his gang without worrying about attacks from behind. Once he and his Super Mutants were gone they could go south and finish the rest at their leisure, but the police house would likely take a concerted effort to reclaim, and the less time Jackhammer had to prepare for them the better.

Abigail's team was the largest, and possibly the best equipped, but in contrast they would be taking the most direct and conspicuous route through the town. Their first stop would be the pump house, and then on to Market Street, securing the way for the two westward teams to meet them at the T junction of Market Street and Main Street.

Since Market Street would be the most open route, and therefore at most risk of an unexpected fire fight, Chopper was the natural choice to be assigned to it. The rest of Abigail's group followed, being used to working together as a team, and Simon, Trevor, Kirren and Vas joined them to make sure that if they were caught they would have an overwhelming advantage in firepower against any normal raider patrol.

Maintaining the element of surprise was of utmost importance, so Rathley, Kyle and Vas would be the forward line. All three of them were skilled at both hand to hand combat and stealth, the aim being to ambush and take out as many raiders as possible without alerting the town with gunshots and starting a shooting war. One or two bullets they might be able to get away with - for all the Hearts knew one of their own might be having a bad Psycho trip - but more than that and it would be obvious a battle had broken out.

"And the rest of us?" Abigail asked, trailing behind the group with Sharn and Kirren as they weaved their way through the ghoul quarter.

"Backup," Kirren replied, her face set in stone and her voice low. "If it starts sounding like a war out here we need to be ready to give them one. The Hearts are only careless when they're off guard, and we need to be ready for that. They're rash, yes, but if they're drugged up or kamikaze crazed they can afford to be."

Kirren gave her another look. "Are you sure you're okay to fight?"

Abigail guessed she must still look as bad as she felt. "... I can still hold a gun."

If she hadn't been so concerned about her trembling hands her knives would have been an even better option. They were silent, as long as they were precise enough to both hit their mark and kill him on the first throw.

That would have been a gamble at her peak though, so she doubted she could manage such a feat right now. Better to leave the killing to the professionals. What a grim thought.

000

Sitting smack bang in centre of Market Street's northern end, looking down almost the entire length of the town, the pump house was an exceptional vantage point for a rifleman such as Sharn or Simon, but made for a mediocre ambush position at best. Rathley wouldn't even have considered it worth bothering with, if it weren't for the fact that the raiders had to drink in lieu of the absent water caravans.

Water traders were often close to criminal themselves - few made better extortionists in the desert - but against the raider gangs it was safer for them to join with the other caravans and avoid such trouble altogether, rather than risk getting shot by a pissed off ganger who didn't like their price.

So, if the Hearts had no choice but to come then Abigail's team had to decide how to make the most of their advantage. A sniper's position would only be worthwhile to take down any raider lucky enough to escape down the street, but they had people to spare and Sharn was more than happy to lie on the roof out of the way, hoping no-one would have to call her upright.

Everyone else would have to hide either in the small pump house itself or within sight of it, which was tricky when it faced out into Market Street.

Chopper and Trevor were not armed for anything but a full on fire fight, and Chopper looked uncomfortable as ever being on the front lines anyway, so Kyle put them outside the pump house's back door. They could serve as guards if nothing else, and should things go to pot they could burst in guns blazing.

Similarly there would only be room for four to be lying in wait inside, so Kirren and Simon snuck their way into an abandoned store on the east side of the street. From there they had a good view over the wrecked carts outside to see the pump house door, and anyone who came in. Armed with the radio transmitter Abigail had tuned up they were the first watch, and again they could lay down covering fire to help the main attackers get clear if need be.

Abigail realised what that meant, blood draining from her already pale face. She was left waiting inside with Kyle, Rathley and Vas.

"K-Kyle, I don't think I can do that." It was a whispered confession, and one that he had to be expecting, but she couldn't bring herself to go against his plan while everyone else was still within earshot behind the pump house.

His crack-toothed smile might not have been able to win her heart, but it could still make her weak legs tremble when he turned it on her, no doubt whatsoever on his face. No wonder Sharn was so content most of the time.

"I know you're still hurting Abby, but let's face it; you know how to get your PipBoy and the radio to work together, and I've seen you fight with those knives. Rathley and me can probably handle this ourselves," which earned him a dark snarl from Vas, "but if you could run up and stab a super mutant, you can stab a raider. Have a little faith in yourself."

"But I don't," Abigail replied, genuinely scared that 0anyone0 would have faith in her to fight right now. "Kyle, when things go wrong around me, they go 0really0 wrong!"

"Bullshit." Those who were left in the alley looked to Chopper, standing against the wall, already in her position by the door. "Sooner or later that excuse is going to get old."

It was the first thing Chopper had been given the chance to say to her in days, and it made her blood seethe behind her eyes. "Don't you dare say anything," Abigail hissed, trembling.

"This isn't the time, Chopper," Kyle admonished, but Chopper seemed not to care about his opinion in the least.

"It's the perfect time. We're going into a fight and she's getting superstitious."

"Shut up!"

Abigail found Chopper staring her dead in the eyes, and her breakfast churned in her stomach as the conflict focused squarely on her. "These guys are putting you right on the firing line, Abby. Say that the ghost of your little Alfred does show up. Whose fault will it be that you were there?"

Abigail wanted to glare back, but against that stare she couldn't. And no, this 0wouldn't0 be her fault if it did go wrong, but sick or not she had to make sure she didn't screw it up, for everyone's sake. All she had to do was tune in and monitor her PipBoy. She might not even have to use her weapons at all.

She stood silent waiting for someone else to say something. They didn't. No-one else knew the story, and she didn't want to tell them.

Instead Chopper turned away and opened the door. "So get your ass in there already."

Vas chuckled as the four of them filed in. "Lively lot."

Rathley gave the bounty hunter a grin. "You have no idea, Sugar."

000

Sat in the shadows either side of the closed doorway, Abigail, Kyle, Rathley and Vas waited. The green glow of the PipBoy's screen illuminated Abigail's sallow face as she counted each and every second that passed. Every now and then Simon or Kirren's voice would crackle out of the computer's speaker, bringing them all to sharp attention, but for twenty agonising minutes there was no call to ready themselves.

Kyle and Rathley stood hugging the left wall. They would be spotted first, but both seemed as relaxed and professional as Abigail knew them to be. She was crouched opposite them. She would have a knife in her hand eventually, but she was to stay down until everyone had made their moves, and even then her role was just to surprise anyone Rathley or Kyle struggled with. Vas had toppled an old filing cabinet to give Abigail her niche to hide in, and was now perched on it, looking alternately bored and anxious.

Eventually the whispered call came, Simon's voice only just above the static. "There they are. Four Hearts, and six townspeople."

They had people with them, to help carry the water. Fuck. Obvious, but not anticipated. Of course they had people serving them. They'd taken over an entire town.

"It looks obvious who is who though. Only the Hearts are armed that we can see. Two with spears, two with guns."

A terribly pregnant pause.

"Raider with gun taking the door, spears flanking townies behind."

Then the radio static cut out, just as the door opened. Abigail tried so hard not to make a noise as a pair of heavy leather boots, festooned with loose buckles, stepped straight past her. A large hand holding what Abigail could recognise as a 10 mil pistol swung lazily in his far hand, right next to Kyle's vague silhouette.

"Okay ladies, straight line as usual... What the fu-0hurk0!"

All three of the others moved in unison. The light from the doorway had caught the curved chest of Rathley's metal armour, giving him away, but not before the unaware Heart had taken three steps in, within the grizzled survivalist's reach. Rathley's left hand had shot out and cut off the man's exclamation as it snapped closed around his throat, while the right had neatly plucked the pistol out of his hand.

Rathley used all his weight to push the man off balance and into Vas' toppled cabinet. The Heart cracked his head on the wall as he fell. Rathley let the pistol fall free and grabbed the Heart's hair, slamming it into the rusted cabinet twice for good measure - 0crack0, 0CRACK0.

At the same time Kyle had dragged in the first of the townie women and twisted around as she shrieked, trading places with her so that he could dash out and into the street, his knife drawn. Whatever happened then Abigail couldn't see, but a single cry and then the sound of a slumping body told her all she needed to know. Kyle had been much more efficient that Rathley.

With the townie woman clear of the doorway and Kyle gone the second raider guard could see Abigail crouched in the shadows, fumbling for her blade, and he charged forward, levelling his spear at her. "Fucking bitch!"

Crouched in the hollow between the wall and the fallen cabinet she had no way of escaping, but beside her, unconcerned as Rathley beat a man's brains into her perch, Vas whispered, "Sit tight, Vault Girl."

The raider couldn't see Vas past the doorway, but from Abigail's reaction Vas knew he was coming, and Simon had told her how he would be armed.

It didn't stop Abigail from screaming out of sheer fright, but just as the spear passed through the doorway a thin, all but invisible wire looped out and suddenly tightened around the pole, forcing it up and away from Abigail as the man charged recklessly forward. Vas' garrotte might not have caught the man's throat, but she pulled it up towards her, bringing the spear with it, until the Heart had no choice but to follow, staggering over Abigail and the toppled furniture as he went.

Abigail, seeing her opportunity as he stumbled to a halt, pulled her knife from her pocket and thrust upwards. It was a haphazard strike, but it dung deeply into the man's stomach. He might have screamed, had Vas not already freed her wire from his weapon looped it around his neck.

Not that silence was possible now. The captive townsfolk had let out screams of their own as Kyle had come charging out, not only at the suddenness of the attack, but knowing that the Heart behind them held a sub machine-gun in his hands, and cared nothing for their lives if they were between him and any target he might have. None of the four inside had been in any position to deal with him, so from her vantage point across the street Kirren waited until the last possible moment before taking her clear shot at the man's head. Though only a pistol her custom made .223 calibre weapon was more than accurate enough, and the loss of her left arm had not dulled her aim. The rifle bullet hit its target squarely and the man's head exploded outwards from his left temple, leaving the body to topple from its suddenly slack legs. Hopefully the enclosure of the building around her and the noise of the townie crowd had dulled the sharp report of the shot.

Inside Abigail waited, trembling, until the man above her went limp before withdrawing her blade. Her attack and the sudden onset of adrenaline made her nauseous again, but worse than that was the look of victory and exhilaration on Vas' face. Was that how Abigail now looked as well, at the peak of a fight?

As everyone emerged, eager to hide the bodies and their newly rescued townsfolk, Abigail slipped out to the back of the pump house to finally let her body do as it wished and be rid of her breakfast.

"So," Chopper said, happy to stay put unless her skills were called for, "none of that blood is yours, I hope?"

Abigail looked over to her, probably looking filthy, before turning back to her uncomfortable work. "No."

And from the doorway Rathley appeared, sounding amused. "Not too bad, Sugar. Shame about the scream, that wasn't so cool. But when your ghost turns up, you shank 0him0 in the belly too."

That was so typical of him. At least she guessed he was trying to be nice. "...You're making fun of me."

"Who's makin' fun, Sugar? You ask, and we'll hold the fucker down for you!"

It was actually a nice sentiment, in a perverse sort of way. Especially since the pair of them looked like they'd enjoy it.

000

After having waited so long for the Hearts' arrival the debate over whether to stay or move further in was a short one. Even if Kirren's gunshot hadn't been enough to bring the raiders running a second company would be dispatched to find the first sooner or later, but by that point the Hearts would be alert and ready for any fight they were given.

Instead they dumped the raiders' bodies in one of the abandoned shops and did what they could to mask the bloodstains from Kirren's kill before retreating back into the alleyways behind Market Street and moving on. The captives did not seem too worse for wear and had been sent to hide until the fighting died down. Quite what 'worse for wear' meant coming from Rathley was anyone's guess, but Abigail had been too busy throwing up to talk to them, so she took it as read that they were okay and tried not to think much more about it. Instead she thanked Vas for saving her life and joined with their troop as they crept onward.

"Likewise," Vas replied quietly, a smile on her tight lips. "You make for some good bait. You should have seen the look on his face when it was 0you0 who gutted him!"

Well, what had the bastard expected? Abigail thought, irritated. If he was going to try and kill her then she would return the favour, especially after everything his gang had done to this town and its inhabitants. The visceral memory of the knife pulling in his stomach still made her feel ill, but she had experienced much worse already.

At the other side Sharn, Kyle and Simon were similarly distracted, finally having got the chance to congratulate Kirren on her shot. It was one any of them could have made, but it was Kirren's timing as well as her aim that drew their appreciation. Sharn had been too late in getting a bead on the man, while Kyle had not seen him for the crowd of screaming prisoners in his way.

"You could have beaten me to it," Kirren replied to Simon in equal parts modesty and chastisement. "I could have missed."

"But you had him. I'd have shot if you'd missed, but we're supposed to be keeping quiet, right?" And he spoke as a junior Merc to a professional fighter. Kirren was the more experienced shooter, even though she had preferred rifles to handguns in the past.

"I didn't leave much room for error," Kirren admitted. "I'm used to shooting at my leisure."

Across the town, from the eastern side, the sharp crack of gunfire broke through the sluggish morning air. First one shot, then another two to finish the job.

Their group may have been the first to fire that morning, but clearly they would not be the only ones.

Everyone halted, waiting to hear some sort of alert or rallying cry. Once again it didn't come.

Kyle huffed, almost disappointed. "Either these Hearts are all hung-over still or they're the most unconcerned sons of bitches I've ever fought."

"You'd prefer to have them breathing down your neck right now?" Chopper asked.

"After they went to the trouble of getting 0all0 their camps together to take over this place? Yeah, some sign that they care that we're here might be nice. It's creepy, not knowing if they've cottoned on yet."

000

They had. The Hearts did not need a chain of command to stir them into action as long as at least one raider had a decent head on his shoulders and the initiative to follow up on a shot coming from so close to their only supply of water. For all he knew it was another attack from some of the few remaining town fighters who had not fled, died or been forced under his boss' thumb. There had been no sign of a fight beyond a bit of bloody dirt, and that was hardly unusual, but whoever they were causing a ruckus it was probably safest to kill them anyway.

000

The wide alleys behind Market Street were becoming more and more battle scarred as Abigail's group pressed further into the town. Occasional bullet holes pock-marked the clay or metal hut walls, and every now and then they would come across an overturned cart or stall, dragged back into the alley to provide a makeshift barricade.

There was even a body still lying in the street, at least a week of sun having dried it out and leaving just a stagnating husk. Either it was a warning, or just a show of utter unconcern that the man had even bothered to take up arms against the raiders.

"Poor sod." Trevor said from the front of the group, looking down at the dry body.

Then from behind the next building a bald man strode into view, clad in faded dungarees and heavy boots. A breastplate fashioned from some sort of insect carapace adorned his chest, and a battered double barrel shotgun sat in his hands, already pointed squarely at the lot of them.

"Yeah, doesn't it just kill ya'?"

After the ominous silence his appearance alone was enough to make all of them bolt. Abigail ran back to hide behind a broken, top-loading washing machine that was parked out in the street, but few of them were so close to cover.

The shotgun blast that followed blew Trevor clean off his feet. A gaping hole in his side bled out in an elegant pirouette of gore before his body hit the dirt and rolled to an awkward stop. That alone was enough to freeze Simon in his place, screaming his brother's name, and Kirren yanked him into the passage that led out to Market Street just in time for a bullet to catch his shoulder instead of his windpipe.

In seconds Chopper and Vas joined Abigail behind her washer, crowding her for what little cover it afforded. There was no way for either of them to advance or retreat enough to make it to an adjoining alley - they had both been at the rear with Abigail - so the three of them cowered as the Heart's second shell slammed into their meagre barricade.

"Christ," Vas swore, tearing her pack off her back and pulling out a revolver - much smaller than Abigail's but obviously well kept, "I never even saw 0one0 of them!"

Two shots rang out from further forward as someone fired back, only to be answered by the second crack of a rifle.

"One on the ground, a shooter on the south west roof..."

Chopper nodded, stooping over them both. "Two more at least. There's another barricade in the right alley. These fuckers knew we were coming. They were 0waiting0."

Vas huffed and pulled a machete out to go with her handbag pistol. "Right, they're mine then. Cover me when they start shooting again."

Chopper nodded, her face hard. "Cover I can do."

What they had planned Abigail could only guess at, but she followed their shared resolve, her nervous fingers wrapped around the grip of her own chosen gun. "Just scare them back, right?"

Vas gave her a querying look, but any talk of in-depth tactics would have to wait. The deafening boom of another shotgun shell signalled Vas' dash, and instantly Abigail was up on her knees, her pistol in her hand and firing haphazardly at the Heart with the shotgun. Her mix of ammunition evidently did its job because her first, louder shot of heavy-packed ammunition made the raider jump back a full three feet, and though her shots went wide the raider fired back at her in pure reflex, ignoring Vas as she sprinted across the street and taking his aim off his original target altogether.

It felt like forever as the gun kicked backwards in Abigail's hands, threatening to tear off her fingers in her weakened state, but the flash of the shotgun's muzzle aimed squarely at her made her realise that she shouldn't have stayed up to shoot a full four bullets. The lethal spread of buckshot reached their washing machine just as Abigail was yanked back down behind it, and she gasped as she hit the ground. She didn't know whether that shot had been on target, but if so it had been a close thing.

"Watch your bloody head before they blow it off!" Chopper yelled at her, sparing her a brief, irate glance before her arm stretched out over the washing machine to spray ten millimetre bullets up towards the rifleman on the roof. His careful aim at Kirren, Simon and Kyle had been shaken only for a moment, and only now was he forced back behind the lip of the roof.

Abigail frowned back at her. "What do you care if they do?" It was spiteful, and petty in the face of the lead that was flying across the intersection, but damn it she was still angry and it made her feel better after almost being killed twice today. It was even worse that Chopper had been the one to pull her back.

The look that she got in return dissolved all that bile like a copper coin in a canister of hydrochloric acid. "Of course I fucking care!" Chopper roared, her eyes ablaze with fury. "If you're going to be out here then pay a-fucking-ttention, or else you're going to get yourself fucking killed!"

Abigail sat there as a few more shots rang out, and from somewhere around the corner a man screamed in the background while her brain ran circles. No-one had ever shouted at her like that, and it had shocked her into a very uncomfortable silence.

"Now pull yourself together. The others have their hands full crossways," Chopper said, motioning to the cross road of alleys that the others had scattered into, both towards and away from the barricaded raiders. "That leaves this one to us as long as he doesn't circle around."

With that said she popped her head up just long enough to see that the shotgun wielding raider hadn't re-appeared yet, but she ducked back again to deny the sniper a shot at her. "Soon, or else he's bolted. Three... Two..."

Abigail swallowed whatever she was going to try and say. She had no comeback yet, and they had to kill this man before he killed anyone else.

"One!" They both appeared, Chopper from the top and Abigail from the side of their cover, but there was still no sign of the shotgun wielding Heart. In fact, all that was left was a rifle report from the roof 0opposite0 the Heart's building, and the sight of the raider slumping over the roof's edge.

"Clear!"

The voice was Sharn's, coming from that opposite roof, and one by one their company filed out into the street, wary for more incoming Hearts but looking pleased. Vas clambered over the eastern barricade grinning like a loon, an empty pistol in one hand and a very bloody machete in the other. She was already festooned with her spoils, while Rathley appeared from the far end, his fists bruised and bloodstained.

"What happened to our 'no shooting' policy guys?" he joked. From the wall behind him the shotgun Heart's body slumped, beaten to death.

The rest of them just got to play as distractions this time. Kirren, Kyle and Simon appeared from behind their meagre alleyway cover just as Abigail and Chopper did.

Their victory was tarnished when Simon slumped down beside his brother's blasted body, his own right arm hanging low on his bleeding shoulder. "God... God damn it!" The young man wept, his good fist clenched in his lap. "I'll kill these fuckers. I rip their fucking hearts out! Bastards."

Abigail couldn't help but sympathise with the boy's loss. There was a cruel symmetry in losing his brother in the same fight that was supposed to be their revenge for their father.

"I'm sorry, Simon."

But unfortunately there wasn't time to mourn. These raiders at least knew what was going on, and had somehow anticipated their movements. They needed to get to the junction of Market and Main Street quickly, and hope that the same did not happen to their other teams. If the Hearts had not been reporting a shootout to their boss at the police house before, they certainly would now.

However, it was not only the Hearts that came out of the woodwork after such a showdown. Guns were quickly drawn again when two large men walked straight into their path as the group left the scene of the shootout, but nervous trigger fingers were kept in check long enough for them to recognise the men.

"Jassic? Bason? You're alive."

Jassic gave them all a huge, bearded grin, and they both let out the breaths they'd held. "Damn right we are. And we got to you lot in time if you're doin' somethin' more than wanderin' around waitin' to get jumped. This way, quick, before more of those broc-heads get here."

"Nice to see you too guys," Kyle said, "but we're on a time limit."

Bason just kept smiling. "Trust me, if you lot are here we're with you, but you'll want to see this. The Hearts might have got hold of Steph, but they didn't get her stash!"

000

Sitting at the third floor window of the police station Stephanie Brown hoped for the hundredth time that was what had happened. In the week since her capture she had seen hide nor hair of her remaining friends, and while the Hearts had not treated her as badly as she had first feared, neither did they keep her informed of what went on outside.

Hers was the old upper floor arsenal, cleared out by the Raiders and now containing only her tools, a work bench and a dusty old mattress for her to rest on. Apparently she was of some value to Jackhammer, as she hadn't been 'invited' to their many sex and drug parties on the lower floors. He said he didn't want her coming over 'all emotional' after a bout of mass rape and throwing herself out of the one window that her cramped room afforded her. Instead she was kept locked there to work on the weapons that he brought her, and to his credit - and her misfortune - he knew a rigged gun when he saw one. She had lost the use of two of her fingers after she had tried that, and now the shattered digits sat wrapped together on her left hand, their constant throbbing reminding her that misbehaviour would not be forgiven.

If the Hearts had managed to find the contents of her shop she was sure the vile man would have come to crow about it - he was a braggart beyond compare - so hopefully it was all still safe and unclaimed. Though many of the more potent munitions had been disarmed there were still enough guns, ammunition and ready explosives to satisfy even Jassic's hunger for wanton destruction. And likewise, if her captors got hold of them...

Even the Brotherhood of Steel would be given a run for their money if that were the case. Especially on top of the weaponry the Hearts 0did0 still possess.

The only question was what took everyone so long. Surely not all her friends had been killed, and they could not flee and leave her there to rot. Likewise, Erin couldn't have abandoned her town. Not even after Jackhammer had killed Mayor Golway. She shuddered at the memory, Jackhammer carving up the man's body like a Brahmin carcass in front of the entire, defeated town.

No, Erin was more determined than that. More single minded. She would want revenge. Even if the Brotherhood wouldn't come until their Leaders decided it was 'worthwhile', Erin would be back as fast as she could be.

A couple more shots rang out across the town, and Stephanie dared to hope that her ambitious friend might have arrived already. Just as she had hoped the day before, and the one before that; every day since she had been dragged into that cell.

A loud click from behind her signalled another visit from her captor, and she pulled her sheet closer around her shoulders to cover herself. Though he hadn't touched her, Jackhammer still said that her body ought to be appreciated, and his 'appreciating' eyes made her sick to her stomach every time he visited her cell of a room.

Even Manny, scary as he was, was preferable to this man. Hell, he was 0nice0 to her.

"Stephanie, my dear. Wearing a dreary expression as ever."

Jackhammer was not tall, not imposing, and not even particularly muscular beneath the belted-together sleeves of cured leather that passed for his armoured shirt. But he was smart, manipulative, and ruthless.

He smoothed a hand through his slicked back locks of clean brown hair before depositing a pair of handguns on her table. They were good guns, right for his build and well kept.

"I've just been told we have a little rat problem out there today, my dear Stephanie, as I'm sure you've heard. That's what we get for punishing a town that's so fond of the things. But we'll have to put them down sooner or later. Apparently a few of those rats have reputations that precede them, and teeth to match."

"I hope they bite your arms off."

Jackhammer gave her a disapproving look, though nothing as hard as Stephanie tried to give him. "That's not nice, Stephanie. I suggest you do as you're told, because this isn't repair work. I'm giving you a choice this time. I don't often give people choices."

He pointed to the pistols. "Pick one, and re-fit it to fire 14mm rounds."

To fire what? Stephanie frowned. "I can't. With all the work required you might as well just buy a 14mm gun to begin with..."

Jackhammer's face contorted into a roar before she had finished speaking. "DON'T refuse! I 0have0 14mm guns, Stephanie dear." This time the sycophancy reeked of razor sharp, threatening sarcasm. "I need something that 0isn't0 14 mil shooting those bullets, and I need it quickly. You tell me what 0you'll0 need to do it, and get it done by the time those rats poke their heads out of their holes, or I tie you to that table and fuck you until you bleed. And I know you don't want that."

Oh God, I can't give him what he wants, Stephanie thought. Her breathing began to quake, and she tried very hard not to let her limbs do the same. "It... It would just be a hacked up 14 mil with a new chassis, slide... A proper hybrid would take days."

To her fearful relief Jackhammer's expression dissolved back into affable good humour. "A quick, 0professional0 hack-up would be fine, as long as you put your heart into it. Call it more a matter of showmanship if you like, but it needs to be special, dearest Stephanie. After all, your best friend in all the world has come to visit - even bringing the cavalry with her which I told her would make me very unhappy - so just think how she'd feel if it wasn't one of your special guns that blew her pretty little brains out."

Erin! That was who it had to be. Jackhammer knew about their friendship - it was why he had put so much effort into making sure he got hold of her alive.

I'm sorry, Erin, she thought as she shakily told Jackhammer what she would need to do the job. I have to do it. But please get me out of here!

000

Another burst of gunfire broke Abigail from her reverie. An automatic rifle of some sort, way to the west of Bason's unassuming home-come-storehouse. That was the sound of another full on ambush, and she could only hope that her side were the ones doing the ambushing.

"Are you okay, Abby-girl?"

Sharn's kind, often energetic voice sounded tired, but Abigail was glad to have someone distract her from the snowballing worries that roiled inside her head.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Wow, that was a shock. No self-defeating honesty came from her, even though her own voice was tight. Just a nice, comfortable white lie, and a forced smile, and suddenly Abigail 0did0 feel a little better.

"I feel bad for Simon," she admitted, looking at the boy - nearly a man - loading up a huge pistol from the wardrobe that Bason and Jassic had been so eager to show them. He had done all his silent mourning for now, and instead wore a mask of cold, calculated recklessness. She worried that his own safety was now secondary to his spilling as much Raider blood as he possible could. "Is he going to be okay?"

Sharn clearly had doubts herself. "Hopefully. We don't ask things like that until the fighting's over, but we'll try and look out for him."

"Good."

Next to all that, Abigail's last few days of ineffectual muscles and chronic self-deprecation looked pretty pathetic, whether she had the excuse of withdrawal or not. It was strange how the worst that the wasteland had to offer had that effect on her.

It didn't feel like a desensitisation, though that must have been part of it. Nor was it just a matter of perspective, or thrill seeking. She didn't 0like0 any of this. She just kept running forward anyway, letting the adrenaline carry her, afraid that her inaction might be what cost her something precious. Perfectly normal for the athlete she had once been; without instant reactions and trust in her body's own split second judgements even a back flip on stage might have caused her a nasty injury. Perhaps she was too used to relying on her instincts when she couldn't trust her mind to pull her through.

She had decided not to take anything from what remained of Stephanie's stock. She already had more guns than she ever hoped to use, and more ammunition than she would have time to re-load. She didn't know what she could do when they did all get to the police house either. She was in no fit state to make a charge, nor was her aim good enough to take out the Hearts who might be shooting from within. She could provide cover, and a distraction, but she had decided that those making the real assault were the ones who would need their pick from the small arsenal stashed in Bason's closet.

Bason didn't entirely agree though. He had been one of those few who had offered Abigail a genuinely friendly smile during her first weeks on the surface, and he offered it again now as he approached her, a bandolier in hand.

"Hey Abby. Not joining us? I wouldn't blame you, with the way you're looking, but it would be a shame."

"I- uh, I don't know how much use I'll be," Abigail replied honestly, "but I won't stay behind. Maybe I can help cover you going in."

"That's the Abigail I remember. Though I didn't think you liked guns?"

She shrugged, owning up to the friendly accusation. "I don't think I can afford not to have one any more. And they're actually kind of interesting. On the inside, I mean. When they aren't killing people."

"Well, when Steph wanted to clean out her stuff so the Hearts wouldn't get it, I saw these, and you know what? I thought it was a shame you weren't around to use them, with the arm you've got."

Abigail looked down at the oversized leather belt he held. Six pockets adorned its front, each holding a smooth, dark grenade, flecked with scratches but immaculately clean. Abigail immediately backed up a step.

"If you don't want them I'm sure we can hand them out, but frankly," Bason admitted in earnest, "if I wanted anyone hurling these things around me, I'd be the girl who could take on a giant mutant with 0throwing knives0."

000

True to Bason's word the detour had only cost them a few minutes, and the ten of them reached their rendezvous in silence. While they had not encountered any more raiders themselves the reports of shots across the town were becoming more frequent and prolonged, and the hushed consensus was one that now favoured speed over strategy.

The Hearts would be ready for them regardless, but the longer they waited for their reinforcements the greater their chance of being caught by more roaming Hearts, and of giving away their location.

Instead they made the dash across Market Street and up Main on their own. If the other groups made it to their rendezvous then they were capable enough to do the same. In the mean time Sharn, Kyle and Rathley could scope out the station on their way east, since the place towered over every building around it.

"Ugh, it's crawling," Kyle groused, once he had returned from their first good look at the front. Two Hearts stood outside the main door and another six sat around in the courtyard playing cards and roughhousing. There were at least another five he could see inside the building's main hall, through the open double doors.

"You expected anything less?"

No-one had, but they glowered at Rathley anyway. "Of course not," Vas challenged, clearly unused to Rathley's brand of wit. "But we can't make a charge if that's the case, and we can't win an attritional block war if they have machine guns and explosives. We should have gone up behind them, not up the street opposite!"

"And I told you that they keep the Super Mutants stationed there!" Kirren hissed back. She pointed to Jassic and Bason. "They've been here, they know. Right?"

Jassic nodded. "It's not like we haven't tried that one, girl. You don't want that minigun pointing at you when you've only got two feet on either side of you to move, and a thirty foot sprint to your target. At least out in the open we can get about, and there's cover in the caravan yard."

Kirren's plan wasn't popular with the newcomers, but it wasn't hard to understand. "So, use a grenade or two to reduce their numbers out there, then split into your teams and make a run for the courtyard. By the time they've recovered - or realised they're under attack and got to the windows - we should already be in a good position, and we can start the real fighting from there."

"And this mutant thing? What about that?" Simon asked.

"If you can see him, empty your gun," Kyle replied. "And pray he doesn't get to return the favour."

"Go for the eyes, hands and joints," Bason added. "The first one could suck up lead like a sponge, but we 0did0 slow it down."

"Fine," Vas replied, looking argumentative and turning her frustrations onto Abigail. "Then the question is, can you get a grenade into the middle of them from here?"

Abigail looked back at her, wondering the same herself. It would have been easier if her arms hadn't felt like lead. "... I can try."

"Atta girl." Bason patted her on the shoulder, and Abigail felt a little of her confidence return. "Let's do it then, while they're still only half-expecting us."

000

It was an easy throw really; no more than eighty feet across the street and into the courtyard where the Hearts were playing. The problem was that Abigail had never played softball while sick, and the hard metal orb in her hand weighed at least twice as much one of those.

There was little time for hesitation though, and as much as it worried her the pin came away with only cursory resistance. Standing there in the slim alley between two buildings, only the Hearts' own pre-occupation kept them from spotting her, and the two men on guard 0would0 spot her soon.

But for that moment the only worry in her mind was, 'Don't drop the grenade. For the love of God, don't drop it!'

She didn't give herself time to. As soon as the pin had left her fingers she began the windmill in her right arm, hoping that the burning ache in those muscles was proof that she was putting enough power behind it. Then the thing was gone, flying fast in the familiar shallow arc that she used to see so often, and Abigail flattened herself against the side of the house on her right. One of the guards saw the little metal bomb as it soared past his field of vision, and he ducked back into the doorway with a strangled cry of warning, but the Hearts in the courtyard merely looked up from their games to see it hit the ground not five feet from their table.

The scream of "Grenade!" was cut short as the aged, temperamental chemical timer ran out, and with a deafening 0BANG0 the entire caravan yard was showered in metal, blood and splintered wood. All six of the raiders were hurled from their feet or their chairs, slammed into the air like screaming rag dolls to be shredded by fragments of metal. Five landed as nothing more than bloody, broken cadavers, while one unlucky man remained conscious, deafly screaming through sudden tears of agony as he came to rest in the dirt.

It was over in seconds, but the morbid sight didn't fade from Abigail's vision. Blooms of blood first, far finer and more powder-like than Abigail had ever seen on the big screen, only to be replaced with the steady crimson spread of ruptured, pumping arteries when the smoke cleared.

She was not left to stare for long. With the deafening explosion past she began her sprint, slowly overtaken by Kirren and Vas while Bason caught up to her, the four of them heading for the right side of the yard. There was no sound of gunfire for what seemed like an age as they dashed across the empty, open street, until the sound of Sharn and Simon's rifle shots from behind let them know that not only were they were being covered, but that the fire fight had begun.

It was Kyle, Rathley, Chopper and Jassic who ran for the left. There was the main door to the building and the gory mess left behind by Abigail's grenade, but it also held the most cover in the way of carts, crates and rubble from the destroyed walls and signposts that had surrounded the place. They were either the most effective up-front shooters, or had the means to slaughter men en-mass should the Hearts swarm out too quickly.

Abigail was in no fit state for a straight fire fight, and likewise Vas and Kirren worked best when they could attack from a position of strength or secrecy. As such they sprinted for the wall at the far side of their companions, where they could flank without drawing too much open fire. The police station's proximity to the other buildings on that side meant that for anyone to see them they would have to lean bodily out of the windows to look down, and if they did then Bason's shotgun would make them wish they hadn't.

More important was the Super Mutant who Kirren said was permanently stationed 0behind0 the building, out of sight but with easy access to the both the alleyways and street. The plan was that the ruckus caused by Jassic, Rathley and Kyle would draw him that way, and then Abigail's group could attack him from the rear as he went to meet them.

The four of them hit the side of the building at full tilt and quickly dodged around into the alley. A rifle shot hit the ground just beside Bason as he puffed his way there, but it was the only one to worry them. The Hearts had yet to start pouring from the building, so there was little worry about being followed, and instead Bason turned his eyes upwards to the two floors of windows above them. "Eyes open girls. Go to the back as soon as you hear Jassic's gun!"

He didn't need to tell Kirren, who already had her .223 pistol pointed up, lining up a shot at each window in turn as she advanced. Abigail followed suit, pulling her .357 out and holding it close to her chest. It wasn't as though Kirren and Bason wouldn't get them first if someone did try to spot them, but if it was more than one..?

It was quiet for a moment. The sound of loud groans and whimpers echoed around the building from the Heart who bled out deliriously back in the courtyard, and they could hear the hurried footfalls, whoops and cursing that came from inside. No-one emerged from the windows though, and those raiders who did appear from the doorway at the front emerged cautiously as far as Abigail could hear.

Maybe Kyle's group had hidden better than they had expected too, if the Hearts weren't firing from the upper floors again.

The respite was brief, and a rattle of automatic fire echoed around, followed by the cacophony that was Jassic's automatic shotgun. Abigail dared not think how many people were falling victim to that sound. Chopper and Jassic clearly fired long enough to exhaust their first magazine or drum of ammunition, while Kyle and Rathley carefully picked off their targets while they fled or ducked for cover.

"Okay, go, go," Vas hissed, impatient at the two more diligent Mercs. "If they were going to pop out they'd have done it already. We've got a mutant to kill."

Easier said than done, Abigail thought, but kept that to herself. Instead she followed her companions to the rear corner of the station and waited for Vas to peer around.

"...Holy mother fucking shit. It's huge."

Abigail felt her delicate stomach knot. "I told you."

More importantly, "Is it going for them?" Kirren asked, in the same hushed, urgent whisper.

"Yeah, but it's not in any hurry. And... it's either smarter than you said, or it has orders, because it's going to make this hard for us."

Abigail joined Kirren in peeking out, and just as Vas said the Mutant was armed and armoured up, but instead of trudging away to join the battle it dragged a weather-blasted dumpster out and up against the wall, open and facing them at a 90 degree angle to the wall, so that it filled most of the alley.

"It's making cover," Kirren said, perturbed.

Abigail couldn't see the problem. "So we can use it, right?"

"Sure," the punk haired Merc replied, "but either we have to shoot over the whole thing or get inside."

Abigail was about to ask why, but looking at it she could see at least some of the problem. The heavy clay wall by the side of the dumpster looked like a stray breeze would knock it over, making it a risky proposition to duck there, and the back of the dumpster was much higher than the front, allowing the lid to lie at an angle when closed. She guessed that would make it harder to shoot over, and even she knew that getting inside the thing made fleeing impossible.

"It'll be bad enough if the Hearts realise we're back here already, with that above us."

Looking up there was a metal gangway twenty feet up, and another twelve feet above that, which must have made for a useful fire escape or rear exit for the upper two floors.

Kirren seemed glad that she had taken note of it. "We want an easy run back here if they decide to use it."

"Yeah, I get it."

The Super Mutant never did spot them, pre-occupied as he was with his work before turning to join the fire fight at the front. The battle seemed to have calmed down, no longer dominated by rapid fire, and the greenish monster was probably going to rectify that.

Then Abigail had a simple idea. "We could get up there."

Vas frowned at her, "The gangway? You have a ladder in those pockets?"

"We could jump it," Abigail replied, defensive. "From the dumpster. Then 0he'd0 have to run."

"Or he could turn his gun on us and we'd be stuck up there," Kirren pointed out. "But you think you can make it up?"

Abigail nodded. As long as the metal wasn't too sharp, and as long as her arms still had strength enough to pull her up, she could make it. "Yeah. I've reached higher bars before."

Kirren glanced at the Super Mutant again, thinking fast. "Vas, can you make that?"

"What? Are you kidding?"

"And I doubt Bason can."

The large, bearded man looked back to them quickly, and shook his head. "Two attacks, you think?"

Kirren nodded. "Yeah." Then she turned back to Abigail. "The question is, can you pull 0me0 up once you're there?"

Now that Abigail just didn't know. She could try, but if she dropped her... falling back down onto the wall of that dumpster would do more than sprain Kirren's ankles. But there was no time to worry, or even think about it. Their quarry was already retreating. "I can try. I mean, I think I can."

"Then that's the plan. Vas, Bason, you take it on from behind, we'll go up. It'll give us a vantage point and, more importantly, another way inside."

With that Kirren bolted out from behind the corner, and the rest of them followed. With all the gunfire ahead of them it was easy to sprint behind the dumpster without drawing any attention.

"Okay, Abby. Up you go. Bason, if he even twitches our way, put some buckshot into him."

Abigail braced against the front wall of the battered skip while Bason hunkered down beside it. As she'd expected it 0hurt0 to push herself up and bring her feet to its metal lip, but despite her wobbles she got there, and perched for a moment to re-train her balance before carefully, very carefully, standing up. One large step forward over the yawning metal mouth and she was fully exposed should the Super Mutant turn around, but she was a full foot higher on the back of the dumpster. She wobbled again as she looked down, but the other three were not watching. Their eyes were focused firmly on the monster that slowly left them behind. It was at the same time both a relief and a little disappointing.

No time for her ego, she thought, and instead took one step back on her thick balance beam. Then came the crouch, low and controlled, with perfect balance this time, and them with an almighty effort she poured every bit of energy she could into her legs, and launched herself upwards. Two handed she might not have made it, but reaching up as high as she could her right hand caught the metal cross beam that made up the walkway's edge, and there she hung. She was breathless, and felt as though she had just been stretched apart on a rack, but successful!

"Excellent!" Kirren whispered from the ground. She tucked her pistol securely into her waistband. "Now get up there. Vas, if you aren't going then at least help the cripple climb up there!"

Below her Vas did as she was told, guiding the one armed woman unsteadily onto the dumpster edge. With someone else coming after her Abigail put her tiredness and discomfort out of her head, and swung her legs forward so that her arms had enough leverage to curl and pull her up onto the walkway.

She lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, swearing silently that she would never touch any kind of stimulants again. She had been an acrobat once, and now look at her! Panting on the deck after a simple pull up. It was pathetic.

She rolled over and looked down. Kirren stood precariously on the lip of the dumpster, Vas keeping her upright since she lacked both arms to steady herself, but it was clear that with all the will in the world Kirren couldn't step to the other side and simply reach up. She'd have to come up from there, or not at all.

"Kirren! Jump, and give me you hand."

Looking up Kirren didn't question her. She just tensed for a moment, and then leaped like a frog on a hotplate. Her arm flailed with far too little direction, but Abigail reached down and caught her wrist with both hands. Kirren's weight pulled her arms taught against the walkway's edge, and the meeting of floor and support gave out an audible clang, but Abigail couldn't worry about that now. Kirren had no second hand to reach up to the edge with, so all Abigail could do was focus on lifting.

Bason's shotgun fired, the Super Mutant now aware of their combined gymnastics, but the threat was drowned out as Abigail hauled Kirren up hand over hand until Kirren could grip the edge of the walkway for herself. Abigail's arms burned, but she looked down and shouted over Bason's shots. "Hold on, and I'll pull you up."

"Don't make me wait too long," was Kirren's worried reply, but Abigail forced herself to her knees and instantly had Kirren's wrist in her hands again, finally pulling her up onto the metal deck. Thankfully the metal had not been rough edged, and aside from the hurried exertion neither one was worse for wear.

"Damn, this was a crazy idea," Kirren said with a smirk as she hauled herself to her knees, and then her feet. But, tired as she must have been already, she drew her pistol from her waistband. "Let's go!"

But as she turned to run down the walkway after the Super Mutant, and Abby merely looked from where she sat panting for oxygen, the hulking creature was not advancing on them now, or even readying the minigun that it clutched in its right hand, but instead its arms were up to cover its head, and it was making an elephant's run backwards, away from Bason's shots and into the courtyard.

"Damn it!" Kirren spat, instantly levelling her gun down at it and putting a pair of bullets into its tough forearms before the monster retreated out of sight and into the courtyard. "It thinks it's safer out there?"

"It might be right," Bason replied from below. "It has nowhere to hide either, without its cover. But we can fight it from two sides now."

Then his hand pointed up, behind Abigail and Kirren, to the upper windows. They had been conspicuously absent from the station's first floor, but since the building was a full two floors higher than anything around it the windows from the second and third floor looked out from all sides over the town.

"I'd say we start getting stuck in." Bason smiled and gave them both a wink.

And why not? They stood a better chance of being able to help inside the place than stuck taking cover in the middle of the gunfire out front.

000

Compared to their climb up getting inside was no effort at all. Abigail pulled open the door and stepped through with her gun in hand. A single raider sat at the end of the corridor, evidently having abandoned Abigail's group in favour of taking pot shots at Sharn and Simon on the roof across the street.

The man died before he heard Kirren's first footstep. The high velocity bullet pitched him forward on his knees, and his body toppled messily out of the window to bleed on the street below.

Abigail grimaced, still trying to rub some feeling back into her arms. "Good shot."

"Thanks."

The police station was a big building, being that it sat over its own auditorium, and the one corridor on the second floor seemed to wrap around inside the outer wall. Doors to their right led inwards to barracks, storage or planning rooms, while windows to the left looked out over the town, giving those inside a perfect defensive position.

Perfect until Kirren appeared in there with them, and turned four shots from her lovingly butchered rifle into three clean kills, with a fourth round just to be sure about the woman at the far end, 150 feet away. She and Abigail paused in anticipation, but none of the doors sprang open to disgorge a new horde of raiders. Either they were all out and fighting already, or Kirren's shots sounded close enough to a rifle's so as not to alert them that anything was wrong.

It gave the pair a few precious seconds to advance before the Hearts at the far end saw their slain sister and realised they were under attack from within. The pair ran to the first door and leapt in, Abigail opening while Kirren swept the room with her gun. There was no-one up and armed, so they both ducked inside and out of any line of fire from the corridor.

While Kirren reloaded her gun - a feat that she made look simple using only five fingers and her right hip - Abigail noted the figures huddled against the far wall. The room 0wasn't0 empty, but at the same time it was clear that these six were no raiders.

Even so, it was a chance that Abigail couldn't take, and her gun was quickly pointed at them. "Who... who are you?"

All five raised their arms, two letting out weak screams as they did, while the woman furthest forward slowly stood up. She was dressed like a townie, though if possible she smelled even worse.

"Don't shoot, please. We're not Hearts! Really!"

"Pets then?" Kirren asked, already positioned to head back out of the door, but sparing them a sympathetic glance.

The woman didn't look happy with the name. "Just get us out of here? Please? That's why you're here, right?"

Abigail didn't have the heart to admit that saving any hostages other than Stephanie had never occurred to her. "Yes. That's right. Just... stay here, and we'll come back for you, okay?"

Instantly one of the women behind their spokeswoman broke into tears, and the young man next to her tried very hard not to follow suit. Maybe they didn't believe her? "Honestly," Abigail insisted, putting her gun away altogether. "We 0will0 come back."

"Abby," Kirren chivvied, knowing that the Hearts would be bearing down on them by now.

The brave woman at the front nodded. "Make sure you kill them at least. We've been here long enough."

Abigail nodded before scooting back beside Kirren at the door. The Merc already held the door handle though, and had her ear pressed to the wood. "Grenade, about thirty feet. On three."

Abigail's eyes widened, realising that Kirren wanted 0her0 on the attack this time. She left her pistol in her pocket, and pulled another metal orb from her bandoleer; the second of six. She briefly worried that she couldn't inflict that kind of violence again, not after watching the broken bodies and the blood first time around.

"Three..."

But only briefly. These people were attacking her. They had all but destroyed this town, killed Erin's father, kidnapped Stephanie, shot Albert, and she didn't want to imagine what they had done to the captives behind her over these last two weeks. The Hearts were going to die, and they deserved everything they got until then!

"Two..."

Abigail pulled out the pin.

"One!"

Kirren jerked the door open less than a foot, and Abigail slipped her arm out, tossing the grenade gently and blindly down the hall in the same swift motion. Someone down the hallway opened fire, but Abigail pulled her arm back in without a pause, and Kirren slammed the door shut again.

Screams of surprise and fear rang out for a few taut seconds, and someone even got close enough to try the door handle that Kirren held tight, but the explosion put a stop to that. The bang was hard and sturdy, resonating through the brick and clay of the old building just as much as it did through their ears, and Abigail's throw must have been short because the wall at the far corner of the room cracked under the pressure of the blast. Had it not been supported by the adjoining wall it might well have been blasted through, and Abigail hoped no-one in the room next door had suffered for it.

Kirren gave it a moment, listening at the door once again before finally opening it. The hallways was a mess of blood, settling clay dust and body parts that had been ripped from their owner. At least one raider had been close enough to be torn wholly apart, and Abigail instantly retched at the sight of loose flesh and intestines.

It was clear as well that, while not nearly so affected, Kirren did not look at the mess, and instead focused on the bodies that were still whole. One, face down, who had run past their room in a mad dash for the corner of the corridor, received a bullet, though Abigail didn't know if the man had been alive or not. She staggered past the carnage and the broken, pockmarked walls to gather herself. She had nothing left to throw up now, but it still made her stomach scream.

Still, there was no time to waste though. Kyle, Chopper and Rathley were still fighting out front, and they were up against that Super Mutant now. The whining thrum of a minigun outside was unmistakable. She called to the Hearts' prisoners to stay inside and keep the door closed - she didn't want them seeing the mess that had been made of their captors - and she and Kirren marched on.

Still no doors opened, and a brief examination revealed more empty bunks and rest rooms, but little else.

They did not get to the other end of the building before a new noise made them pause. Somewhere outside, above them, a keening bleep met their ears, followed by an almighty 0whoosh0. Kirren instantly looked out of the windows, and Abigail followed suit.

A trail of smoke with a rocket at its head flew through the air above them. Abigail felt her pained stomach drop. It crossed the street, weaving slightly as it went, angled downwards and headed straight for the roof opposite.

"Sharn!"

In same moment that the cry left her lips she could see the two figures on the rooftop rise and flee backwards, but a second later the rocket hit and a vast explosion erupted from behind the lip of the roof.

"Oh God," Kirren swore, her voice low and quiet. "Abby, come on, we have to keep going and end this quickly."

"Shit!" Abigail swore again and blinked away the tears that flooded her eyes. She took off running down the corridor, her legs burning, Kirren only a step behind her. The Hearts couldn't do this to them! It wasn't right, and Abigail was going to make them pay for it even if it killed her! And she hoped with all her might that Sharn and Simon were still alive.

000

Outside, the eruption of smoke from within the station was a welcome sign of progress, turning even the Hearts away from their fighting to see what on Earth had just happened. Few of them had a decent view of the front side as they fought in the east end of the caravan yard, but for Kyle, ducked behind the carcass of an old weather-beaten cart, it signalled a turning of the tide. The Hearts, at first so hesitant to appear from the entrance, had now swarmed out in droves, and he and his companions had not been able to kill them fast enough to stem the flow. Worse was the Super Mutant, burning through ammunition like a flame through its kindling, unable to pick them out behind their cover but at the same time not letting them attack. Vas had managed to join the fight again, shooting from inside the hulk a pre-war car that rested against the back wall, but Bason was still stuck in the rear alley, and the rest of them were too often pinned down behind their flimsy cover.

Rathley took the sudden distraction to empty all four shells of buckshot in his gun, blowing away three more stunned raiders in the process, but for the rest of them the boost to morale was enough.

Even better was the sight that met Kyle's eyes when he too had emptied his gun and ducked behind his slowly shrinking wooden shield. Across the street charged five more of Erin's people, the second team to have emerged from their sweep of the town to converge on the police station. Hickman ran for what he was worth, led by his point-man Charlie, and three others from the resistance force. Hell, was that 0Lyster0 of all people, running with his uzi clutched protectively beneath his cloak? Kyle would have guessed that he had fled with the first deserters from the town, slimy coward that he was.

Evidently the man deserved more credit than that.

There was no time to stop and ponder such things though, and Kyle poked his head back up, his pistols loaded, only to be met with the sight of the smoke trail that lanced out from the station to Sharn's roof. He stared only until the explosive impact, then turned away in that instant, without having fired a shot.

There wasn't time to think about it now. No time to think about what had just happened to his lover. No time to imaging what her bloodied, broken body might look like. She was smart. She'd have seen it coming, and she'd have got clear.

And if he didn't snap out of this and survive then he'd never find out, and it would be Sharn who'd have outlived 0him0. He popped back up and with a cry of rage unloaded both his .44 Magnum and his 14mm in only three seconds. That was another four hearts fewer between him and his girl.

As he turned back and knelt to reload yet again that black cloak swirled past him and came to rest by his side. "You cover for me when I reload!" Lyster barked, before taking Kyle's place above the broken edge of the cart and unloading three erratic bursts of lead into anyone he could see. The man flinched every time a shot hit their cover, but he kept firing until his gun emptied itself with a dull metal 0thunk0.

"Fair enough!" Kyle agreed, standing back up the second that Lyster ducked back again. This time he focused on his 14mm pistol, once again trying to make every shot count. "But I hope you've got ammo, because we're going to start running out!"

"Fuuuuuck."

It was only thirty second later that the mechanical whoosh sounded again, and every one of the fighters looked up to see the angled silhouette of another Super Mutant, retreating back away from the edge.

And this time the rocket he'd fired slammed straight into the courtyard. Men and women on all sides ducked for cover, but for some there was no escape. The cluster of crates it hit, filled with constructions beams and building rails, ruptured like a burst box of matches. The vast lengths of metal were sent rolling and cart-wheeling briefly, turning end over end and churning up the dirt before they came heavily to rest, crushing everything in their path.

If he was lucky, Jassic had been killed by the blast, rather than his solid, falsely immovable cover.

But there was no time for mourning, or pondering what might have been. Kyle just had to keep shooting until there was no-one willing or able to shoot back, and hope against hope that Sharn was there to meet him afterwards.

And that the giant mutant on the roof had a limited supply of rockets, because he doubted any of them would be able to stop him from firing another.

000

Abigail and Kirren caught sight of the second rocket impact as they reached the stairs, at the far side of the building from their improvised entrance. The final east facing window gave them a first class view of the gout of fire and crash of falling metal that ended Jassic's life.

"Bloody hell!" Kirren exclaimed, reigning in her voice as best she could and pausing briefly to try and gauge how many had died in that blast. Not many by the look of it. "I wouldn't look Abby. That wasn't pretty."

Abigail tried to take her advice, but she had already seen enough that the warning was wasted on her. In fact, after wading through the remnants of her own explosives only a minute before Kirren's protectiveness sounded like the worst sort of condescension. "I know, okay? I know. At least he's wasting them, right?" She had never heard herself sound so bitter before. Not even at Chopper or Rathley.

She reached up to hold the next grenade on her bandolier. "If I have to use the rest of these they're taking more than one Heart each."

She frowned into the considering stare that Kirren gave her, but the older woman said nothing. Instead she turned to the stairs, one flight going up, the other going down. Strangely the sounds of fighting were louder from 0up0 the stairs, as the raiders fired from the third floor windows, but down were the sounds of scuffles and arguments, and the repetitious mantras of men and women psyching themselves up for the fight.

"Sounds like they've got the rest of their pets downstairs," Kirren whispered. "These ones like using human shields when a fight goes against them. Whole lines of them."

That didn't sound good to Abigail in the least. Not only did the idea of the Hearts having more human playthings to begin with, but her body was shot with fatigue and withdrawal pains. She wouldn't be able to hold a gun to aim it if she tried, and she wasn't about to blow up the Heart's victims just to kill their captors. "Then... you go down, and I'll go up. At least you can shoot straight - you won't hit the townies."

Kirren didn't hesitate. "Okay. Be careful up there, Abby."

And the two separated, Abigail running upwards, and Kirren carefully inching down.

000

Contrary to Kirren's words, Abigail wasn't intent on being careful in the least. She had no energy for care, and even before she had reached the third floor hallway a grenade was in her hand and the pin had been pulled. She got far enough to see exactly who was up there: four Hearts, each at a window, evenly spread along the hallway. Two held rifles, while the others had a shotgun and a sub-machine gun respectively.

Maybe they were still close enough to the battle, two floors up, that range wasn't the problem that Abigail had expected.

Maybe it was all academic as her lobbed grenade hit the clay floor with a 0clack0 and rolled up to the third raider just in time to blow his leg apart. Abigail couldn't count on her accuracy, so she had let the bomb do that for her. The farthest three would be wounded, if not killed, and if any of them survived it would be her closest target.

When she poked her head from the safety of the stairwell she was proved right, at least for the most part. Two torn and broken bodies lay further up the hallway, while the Heart at the far end had been lucky. His legless corpse of a companion had shielded him from the worst of the shrapnel, and he sat dazed against the far wall, fumbling for the gun he had dropped.

More urgent was the woman who skidded and slid towards Abigail, her fur and skin shoes slipping in her own blood. A small, neat hole had been punched through her left leg, and thick arterial blood poured over her knee. Another fleck of metal had grazed her temple, blood dripping down her face and into her left eye. She still had her SMG in her hands, and as Abigail reappeared the raider's whimpering babble became a scream.

Abigail had planned for the survivor though, and though she doubted her aim with her pistol her throwing arm was not so easily worn down. She hurled one of her knives, and it only had to travel fifteen feet before it sank into the raider's exposed midriff. As threatening as the tribal, chitinous armour looked, it had not been practical enough.

The woman's legs gave out instantly and she fell to the floor, her gun falling from her hands.

Abigail picked it up.

"N-no, please," the raider rasped through bloody lips. "P-please don't kill me."

Abigail ignored her for the moment, checked the action on the automatic weapon, and fired a quick burst at the man at the far end of the corridor. He had managed to reach his gun, and was clumsily loading another pair of shotgun shells into it.

Firing the sub-machine gun hurt more than Abigail expected it too, even given her sensitive muscles. Each shot jarred more than the last, throwing her already unstable aim off completely. All four of the bullets missed.

She fired again, missing again, though it frightened the concussed and injured raider into dropping his weapon again. Her third burst hit, running a line of holes up the man's chest and finally putting him out of his misery.

Only now did Abigail look back down at the female raider beside her. The woman's eyes were glazing over, her bleeding leg lying at an angle while she clutched at the knife embedded in her gut, lacking the strength or the will to remove it. It hurt Abigail to realise the only thought that came to her was that it was such a shame. Underneath the blood, dirt and ragged hair, the woman was actually quite pretty. Like a porcelain doll, owned by a spiteful child who refused to care for it.

"H-help..."

The illusion was broken, and Abigail turned away. The gun could only have a few more bullets in it, but they were a few bullets that might be of use.

"No."

"I'll do - 0urk0... anything."

Abigail growled, staggering away. "You've done too much already."

The sound of gunfire downstairs let Abigail know that Kirren was well into her own shootout. With this her friends outside should have an easier fight.

She still had to find Stephanie though, and stop whoever was firing rockets from the roof. If he had more of them he would be firing another soon enough, which was far too soon.

More doors inward passed her by, each one being opened and scanned with her new sub-machine gun before she moved onto the next. They were much smaller rooms; personal residences, small storage rooms, and work rooms, but Abigail left those new ones that led elsewhere for after the battle. She didn't have the time to ransack the building properly, she told herself. All she had to do was take out the immediate threats, and get to the roof. Even Stephanie could wait until afterwards, if need be. Hopefully she would be downstairs, where Kirren could try and ensure her safety.

When she reached the third door her hopes were dashed when the door handle flew from her nervous fingers. Two Hearts had been lying in wait, both with their guns - a shotgun and a 10 mil pistol - pointed right at her.

Faced with that Abigail did the only thing her body would allow her, and fell backwards, hoping that she had let her legs give way fast enough not to get her head blown off. She had at least been on guard, and fired off the last five rounds that remained in the SMG before she hit the floor.

The raiders had been just as quick. The shotgun blast missed her head by millimetres, and she felt the blast on her forehead not because of the lead - at least she hoped it was not the lead - but from the force and heat of the blast.

The pistol man had been quicker to adjust his aim, and just as Abigail's bullets caught them both his own 10 mil round slammed into her left shoulder, piercing through her leather jacket and her vault suit to embed itself in her collar bone, fracturing it instantly.

The pain was incredible, but amazingly the aches in the rest of her body swelled to greet it. Perversely, though it pulled a cry of agony from her throat and tears from her eyes, it felt like it 0could0 be worse.

There was no follow up. Abigail lay there, clutching the wound only four inches from her windpipe, hoping she could react in time if one of those sneaky bastard got up to finish her off. They didn't. Nor did any more doors open to greet the new quiet.

Now that was a miracle. Maybe she was jinxed, but if so then Lady Luck was willing to take care for her as compensation. Maybe she had been all along.

She rolled onto her front, stifling a scream as the bones in her shoulder shifted, and forced herself back to her unsteady feet. The bandolier over that shoulder was agonising, so it was discarded as fast as she could without dropping the three remaining grenades. She left the empty SMG behind and shifted her .357 Magnum into the waistband of her leathers. As uncomfortable as it was the 10 mil holster at her other hip wouldn't carry it, and she needed the pocket for one of the remaining grenades. She still had rooms to search, and the roof to clear.

An explosion sounded from outside, followed by a louder secondary blast. The first was another rocket, probably, but the second she knew well, even though she had never heard it in real life before. It was the sound of a fusion bottle failing, and releasing its miniature nuclear bomb on to the battlefield. The rocket must have destroyed that defunct car in the yard, and its fusion cell had still been live. Such blasts were only lethal at very close range, but it was certainly a larger blast than the rocket. Someone had just died, surely. Hopefully not too many someones.

Now she took only as much time as she felt she could spare, but she had to keep going, throwing open each door before putting herself in the doorway in case of another ambush, but for two more doors she was met with nothing. A bedroom, probably the late Mr Golway's, and a small store cupboard.

The third door however, greeted her not with bullets, but with words.

"Come on in, little rat. No point dancing around if you've made it up here. Show yourself or I blow dear little Stephanie's brains out. Three... Two... one-"

Shit, shit, SHIT! Abigail had no plan, no time, and no energy to think. Stephanie was here? Now? She stepped into the doorway, her right hand on her revolver, half-drawn.

It was just one man, standing in the middle of a small dining room, the tables and chairs all over turned. In front of him stood Stephanie, held in place and covered only by a sheet, the man's pistol resting against her forehead.

"I'll be. I've heard about a girl who dresses like you," Jackhammer said, by way of greeting. He was sweating, but otherwise not in the least nervous. "You put our 0first0 Super Mutant friend in the ground, right? Looks like blowing through my gang has taken its toll on you though. Boys?"

What the hell was she going to do now? From the room adjacent two more Hearts appeared, each with a pistol in hand.

"I'm going to kill you," Abigail whispered. She didn't know quite what else to do. If there was anything Rathley had managed to teach her it was that when you're in doubt, convince the other side that you already know how you'll win. "So give her her clothes back."

Of course, they didn't believe a word of it. This was three on one against a short, skinny, wounded girl.

Stephanie, however, had been given 0plenty0 of time to think. She certainly hadn't expected just 0one0 person to come to her rescue, let alone a girl he remembered as a lucky, rather reckless combat novice, but it was 0someone0 whose reputation preceded her, and that was more than enough.

"You can laugh," Steph said, cutting through Jackhammer's amused bravado, "but you didn't see what she did to the last 0Jack-Ass0 who crossed her."

Jackhammer frowned at her, leaning in to growl into her ear and pushing the gun harder into her temple. "I hope you're not comparing me to that Diamond 0runt0, Stephie dear."

Naturally, both his bodyguards laughed at the apparently ludicrous, petty comparison, all too eager to speak up for their boss. They forgot, just for a moment, how heavily armed the girl in black leathers in front of them must have been.

It took Abigail all of that moment to realise what Stephanie had done for her, and just what the captive woman was ready for her to do in that opening. Her left hand wrapped around the grip of the 10 mil pistol in its holster, her whole side burning as she pulled it free, and at the same time her right pulled back from her .357 and instead went for her pocket, and the grenade that sat there.

It all began when Jackhammer's grip loosened on Stephanie's bound hands again, and the gunsmith rammed her head backwards with all her might, cracking it against Jackhammer's jaw and making the man reel for a moment. She knew he had little real intent to kill her - he had been saving that for the meeting with Erin - so she gambled that the gun at her head would not go off.

She was right. Jackhammer recovered quickly and merely kicked the backs of her legs, the gun she had made for him instantly levelling at Abigail instead.

"Kill her already!" the enraged gang leader barked, furious that the two men he'd brought to ensure his safety had been so slow to fire on their intruder when he had been hit.

Their guns 0were0 raised, but Abigail had been given the few seconds she needed, and left handed had fired the 10 mil pistol from her hip. Each shot made her arm scream and her vision swim, but knowing that her aim would be so poor she simply did not bother, and made up for it with her rate of fire. At least one of the recklessly fired armour piercing rounds flew right through the raider's reinforced leather chest plate, but Abigail's concentration was focused not on him, but his partner who flanked Jackhammer.

With her good hand she'd torn the pin from its hole with the grenade still in her pocket, and now she lobbed the bomb hard into the Heart's face.

Jackhammer stared in disbelief as the explosive smashed into his bodyguard's nose, throwing off the man's aim yet again. "You crazy bitch!"

Abigail's only response was to reach for Stephanie as she tried to make a break for it, throwing her still loaded gun at Jackhammer just to fluster him further. She couldn't fire it; she'd lost the feeling of anything but pain in her entire left arm, and she didn't even know if her finger would still squeeze the trigger.

"Wha.." The Hearts' leader fended off the limply thrown weapon with his own, but after seeing both him men neutralised simultaneously his grip had faltered, and Stephanie had already wrestled free.

Abigail and Stephanie careered out into the hallway, and it sounded as though Jackhammer was following for a second before the explosion filled the room behind them and peppered the wall with shrapnel.

Abigail came to a slow halt, and then with determination she turned on her heels and stalked back to the dining room. This time there was a knife in her hand, but the grenade had done its job. Jackhammer lay crumpled against the door frame, his back a mess of burns and bloody pock-marks, while the two bodyguards were similarly sprawled across the room.

Abigail was glad to see that the searing pain in her shoulder hadn't been in vain. Along with the blast damage she could see that at least two of her armour piercing bullets had found their man, and hit him somewhere in the trunk. Had they not, Stephanie would have needed to escape without her.

"Abigail?" Stephanie called. "God, are you alright? You've been shot!"

Abigail nodded, recognition of that fact bringing back the nausea that she'd felt so often today. "Yeah. I-I'm okay, I think. Are y-you okay?" She didn't wait for an answer. Her muddy brain was having trouble focusing, and there were more urgent things to deal with. "We've got to get the one on the roof."

With that she carried on down the corridor as fast as her burning legs would carry her, ignoring the few remaining doors. She only had the energy left for one more fight, and that had to be the rocket man. If she stopped for more empty rooms or a last raider ambush she knew she wouldn't have anything left to climb the flight of stairs at the end.

"Abigail, wait!"

000

The wind was surprisingly strong as Abigail emerged into the sunlight. The first thing she saw was the town, in its entirety, laid out before her. That was so incredibly inspiring, so breathtaking a sight, that she forgot about her pains and fatigue for one brief moment.

The sounds of gunfire had died down somewhat. Either she was too far away or too run down to hear them, or Kirren had succeeded downstairs and, with the raiders caught from outside and within, the fight might be drawing to a close. She didn't consider the fact that the raiders might be winning, and leaving her few remaining companions little room to fight back. They were going to win because they deserved to win, and damn it; she didn't go through all this and end up getting shot just to have all her friends die without her!

Hoping that the element of surprise was on her side she cast her eyes across the roof, but even tired as she was she could not have missed her target. He was the only shooter, and while she had half expected it, he was the last thing Abigail had wanted to see.

"You things again," Abigail hissed out, but she issued no challenge or warning. Instead she pulled her .357 from her waistband and advanced. The monster was still pre-occupied with his rocket launcher, and her arm would not remain steady enough at that distance.

Behind her the wind slammed the metal door shut, and the Super Mutant looked up from his loading. "Eh? You're no Heart. I don' know you."

He stood slowly, still putting the rocket into his weapon. That was one mercy, at least. He didn't have time to finish loading it.

He didn't have time to get to his feet either. Abigail aimed as best she could, still forty feet from the hulking mutant, and fired. The magnum round wrenched at her wrist, but he was a big target and the bullet sank deep into the left side of his chest. Two more rounds went wide, the pain in her hand and the recoil from even the lighter .38 special cartridges throwing off her already shaky aim, but as she advanced shots four and five both hit home in its stomach.

That was enough to hunch the Super Mutant over, now simply struggling not to drop its weapon instead of finishing loading.

However, it was also enough to make Abigail's grip falter after firing the gun one handed, her left hand hanging painfully from her abused shoulder. The gun clattered to the floor, one bullet left unfired.

She still had her four remaining knives though, and she wouldn't let herself stop until they were gone. She pulled them from her pocket one by one, and in turn hurled them with everything she had left. Behind her the metal door to the roof clanged again, and Stephanie called her name, but Abigail was too invested in her attack to hear.

One blade sank into the Mutant's trunk, while another sliced past its left arm, finally forcing it to drop the rocket clumsily onto the roof.

"Argh! Stupid pest human!" With one almighty swing the Super Mutant threw the useless rocket launcher at her, forcing her to duck away.

It caught her left ankle as it hit the floor, spinning her around, but once it was past her she could still stand. It hadn't broken anything. She threw the last knife that she could afford to give, and it struck the monster square in the chest.

"Fall over already!" Abigail screamed, exhaustion and frustration finally getting the better of her. She only had one knife left. She doubted she could throw it and finish him in one shot. It was too much of a gamble. Likewise, she was too tired to try and finish it face to face. The creature would crush her flat before she even got close enough to swing.

Maybe, if she charged and focused on getting inside its reach without worrying about attacking, she might be able to topple it off the edge.

"ABIGAIL! MANNY! STOP ALREADY!"

Abigail's step faltered. "M-Manny?"

Abigail heard Stephanie run over, still wearing no more than a sheet, but now carrying a shotgun in her hands, scavenged from one of the dead raiders.

"You'll give up now, right Manny?"

The Super Mutant stood breathing heavily, before looking down at its wounds. "They done shooting, huh?"

Stephanie nodded. "And Jackhammer's dead. Abigail here killed him. You've lost."

The Super Mutant 'Manny' made a disgusted face, and pulled Abigail's knives from his sternum and stomach. "Ugh. You humans are all bad as each other. And Illas is dead down there. And I got holes in me now. You got holes in you too, black girl. Wasn' worth it."

"YES IT WAS!" Abigail screamed back at him, not knowing whether to be furious or overjoyed "We... we won! We won, right?"

"I think so," Stephanie replied. "I saw Rathley walking around bold as brass down there when I grabbed this. Come on, Abby. Let's sit you down and find a doctor."

Abigail had other priorities though. "Sharn! She's needs help!"

With Stephanie's assistance Abigail staggered to the edge of the roof to look down at the building the Mutant named Manny had shot a rocket into. The blast had collapsed a large part of the roof, and two figures - Sharn and Simon - lay sprawled on what remained of it. It was easy to identify Sharn by her huge mane of hair though, stirring at least slightly as someone tried to revive her.

Abigail let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Oh, thank you so much."

Quite who she was thanking she wasn't sure, but they certainly deserved it. She raised her good arm as a last show of exhausted triumph, and below her several people, both late comers to the battle and the lucky survivors, mirrored it. That was right, they'd had reinforcements come too. Hopefully that meant not too many of her friends died after all.

Though she wanted to try and see who she could recognise standing safely down there she let Stephanie ease her to the floor, propped up against the raised edge of the roof. "Uhhh, I think I need to close my eyes, Steph."

"Sure. Thanks for coming to get me."

"You're welcome." Then Abigail realised who else was up there. "What about... the mutant? It... it'll kill us."

"No it won't. I promise. Just get some sleep. I'll make sure he doesn't hurt you."

Abigail didn't believe it, but she was too tired to argue, or do anything but shut her watery eyes. "I really hope you're right..."

000

Abigail was asleep almost instantly, and after wrapping up her shoulder Stephanie sat down next to her to give her something more comfortable to lean against, putting herself between her saviour and the Super Mutant that the girl feared so much.

"Would you have shot me?" Manny asked, slowly plodding over, trying not to aggravate his own injuries.

"Yes, I would. I nearly did when you threw that launcher at her."

"Ugh. She attacked me first. I'm gonna need medicine too, after she put holes in me. Why'd you stop her, anyway? You don' think they'll kill me? I killed enough of them."

"I didn't want 0you0 to kill 0her0 either. If Erin decides to kill you after this then that's the end of it. I told you not to fight."

Manny sighed heavily. "Thought he'd win. Ugh, we should'a listened to Marcus. Would've been better to go with him, 'stead of picking fights with humans over food. Stupid vault person."

Stephanie looked at him in surprise. "Oh? You've met Abigail's type before?"

"Eh? She's a vault person?" He sighed again, more exhausted. "They're trouble. All of them. Feh."

He lay back against the raised edge as well. "I'm gonna sleep too. Being shot full of holes makes me sleepy."

000

To be concluded...

000

Please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2010


	18. Full Circle

After the Vault: Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.

000

After the Vault

-A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-

Chapter 18

Full Circle

It was dark when Abigail awoke. Not the pitch black of a tent at midnight, or the glistening, haloed darkness of a night beneath the stars, but a warm, night-light darkness manufactured for comfort and security. Even though the light flickered, quite unlike the dim, steady bulbs that had lined her vault corridors, there was something reassuring about it. She was at least somewhere safe.

She was also in bed, beneath more covers than the cool night air had any hope of penetrating. She might have lifted out a hand to check the air and discard one of those sheets - any contrast to the constant daytime heat was welcome to her now - but she didn't know if her body would respond if she tried. Dull, aching pains echoed slowly through her, radiating outwards from her wounded shoulder, now wrapped with uncomfortable tightness. Her arms ached as if she'd spent entirely too much time in the gym, and been too lazy to take a hot bath afterwards. Even her head throbbed.

A pill would have been nice right then. Something to keep her moving through the pain, and get her out of bed.

Instead she sighed and lay still, so as not to aggravate her throbbing shoulder. Thankfully, knowing it wasn't an option didn't seem quite as grim as it had several days before. She was alive, and that was something. Alive and safe. At least for now.

"Oh, you're awake? It's a bit early for you, isn't it?" The voice was surprised, but pleasantly so. Then, more gently, "How do you feel?"

Abigail closed her eye and sighed again. It was Chopper. But then, who else would have treated her wounds and bandaged her up? This was something that Abigail really didn't need to deal with, feeling so groggy and uncomfortable. The woman had managed to destroy her self confidence and break her heart in one terrible evening, but since then had saved her life in the alleys and had actually shouted that she still cared about her, after everything she had done. But only *after* having slept with Erin, according to rumour.

And Abigail still had her possibly wounded friends and a damned Super Mutant to worry about. No, she did not want to deal with Chopper right now.

"Unhh. I'm okay, I guess."

It came out more confrontationally than she intended. After all, hopefully Chopper had put the whole sorry mess behind her already if she was back with Erin. But that did not make as much of a difference to Abigail's state of mind as she had hoped.

Chopper's voice came back quieter, and more curt now. "I see."

That was it for a moment. Abigail looked down past her feet to where the woman's voice came from. It was hard to make out, but lit both by the one candle and the green glow of Abigail's PipBoy screen, Chopper sat at a table by the side of the room. Her medical bag was open and her tools spread across the tabletop, but she wasn't working.

"You've certainly been in better shape," Chopper finally said. Her voice, though still quiet, had returned to its normal, level tone. "But you'll heal eventually. It wasn't a bad break, for a gunshot. Try to sleep some more."

Yes, that was better. If any talking was going to happen, it wasn't going to be now. Feeling relieved Abigail tried to take her advice, but now that she was awake she found that more rest would not come easily.

"... Why have you got my PipBoy?"

"It has a decent light. And you wear it on your left arm. You'll have to change that for a while."

A sudden worried butterfly flitted through Abigail's stomach. "You've haven't read my diary, have you?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Just... don't." Not that I've used it recently, she thought. But still, things had changed.

Another few minutes of uncomfortable silence followed. "Chopper? Did anyone die?"

"A lot of people died. Go to sleep. We can talk about that tomorrow."

"Chopper!"

"Tomorrow. You need rest, and I still have work to do."

So there were still people in trouble then, and Chopper was still needed, even though the sun had gone down.

"What time is it?"

"Three twenty seven, according to your gadget."

Late then. "You aren't going to sleep?"

Chopper's silhouette shifted. "If I do then Hickman dies."

"Oh no..." That wasn't fair. He was one of the good ones! Why him!

Because he couldn't keep up any more, part of her mind told her. Because his old injuries slowed him down. Because it was too much to hope they had got through without any further casualties. Because one or two bullets of the hundreds fired that day happened to find their mark.

Because someone else had rolled the dice, and got lucky.

"I told you, we can talk about it later. Worrying is only going to keep you awake."

Abigail had always hated it when Chopper was right. Especially when it was for the right reasons.

"You can save him, right?"

"Maybe. I wouldn't be trying if it wasn't possible."

000

The soft, flickering candle had been replaced by the white glare of sunlight on the walls when Abigail finally woke again. The blinds were drawn and what little light there was cast itself across the hastily painted walls rather than down onto her, but it still made her reel before she could find her sunglasses on one of the bedside stands, groping for them one handed.

Then her shoulder objected, echoed by her head, as she slowly managed to slip them on. Perhaps she ought not to be moving like that yet.

However, her only alternative was to lie in bed, watching the rays of sun march across the room. That was even less appealing than the pain that had already begun to subside. Chopper had probably given her another stimpak, pain faded so quickly, and though she had shifted out of it in her sleep there was a sling resting around her neck.

With great care she eased her left arm into it again, hissing when it protested, and she rose. She was just wearing her jumpsuit, but she did not like the idea of getting her leathers back on again, wherever they might have been. Instead she slipped her feet into the mismatched boots that sat by the dresser, not bothering to try and tie them, and headed out. Chopper's things were still strewn across the tabletop, minus the medical tin and Abigail's PipBoy, but they could be left. If nothing else, Abigail wanted to find out where exactly she was, and more importantly where everyone *else* was.

It was actually very disconcerting, stepping out of a bedroom and not being met by a long corridor lined with doors to similar rooms. There was a room opposite, with a bed and a trunk at its foot, but that was all, and the brief hall opened into a much larger room filled with both a kitchen and living space, which looked into one of Corva's winding alleyways.

This was what a normal house was in Corva. However briefly she had visited it, Bason's had been very similar.

As soon as she emerged all three pairs of eyes in that room turned to greet her, and before Abigail could even say hello Sharn was out of her chair and rushing to hug her.

"Abby-girl! I thought you weren't going to wake up at all at this rate!"

It was a calm and careful embrace, much more restrained than her voice was, and while it still hurt to be held Abigail didn't mind in the least. She was just glad to see Sharn alive and well after all.

"Ow, ehe, I'm so glad you're okay," Abigail beamed, hanging onto Sharn even as the woman realised that it must have hurt and tried to pull away. "I was so scared, I thought you'd be dead."

"I thought so too," Sharn admitted. She rubbed at a bandage that had been tied around her head, just above her eyebrows. It made her voluminous hair look puffed upwards like a stook of corn. "But I got off lightly."

From the table, a pint of beer in his hand, Rathley chuckled. "You're a tough bitch if you call a cracked skull 'light', sugar."

Abigail's concern immediately blossomed on her face, but Sharn waved it off. "Really, I'm okay. I must have fallen pretty hard. Just don't hit me there and I'll be fine. You on the other hand, ought to be sitting down."

Abigail didn't protest as she was led to the chair Sharn had vacated. It was nice to be looked after right now. "And what about you two?" she asked. "And Simon? Is he okay?"

Both Kyle and Sharn's faces fell, while Rathley's simply firmed slightly. After that Abigail knew the answer before any of them gave it.

"Simon didn't wake up," Kyle said at last. "We thought he might have pulled through, he didn't look any worse than Sia, but he must have been closer to the blast."

"Oh." That was a blow. A heavy one. Both he and Trevor had been killed chasing after their revenge. Abigail couldn't help but think that it couldn't have been worth it. "And Jassic died. I know. I saw it happen."

"Yeah," Rathley agreed, sucking air through his teeth, "that was nasty. Quick though."

Kyle went to the stove and retrieved a lukewarm pan of coffee, pouring some for her.

"Who else?" Abigail asked as she accepted the cup.

"Your girl, Vas," Rathley replied. "Got cooked in that car out back. Damn thing was still live. Went up like nobody's business." He chuckled. "It was a decent bit of cover too, apart from that. She and Bason probably took down that mutant on their own, almost."

"And Bason?"

"He's fine," said Kyle. "A few scratches. He never got past the back wall, but it kept him out of the line of fire."

"Wyatt and Gnash got shot up," Rathley added. "Don't know if you talked to them. Didn't choose the best of times to come and back us up, when the last lot of raider's came runnin' out. Took a bullet myself in that lot."

He pulled out his chair, and Abigail could see that his stomach was bound up, like her shoulder was.

"Uh, is it bad?" She had to ask but he didn't seem to be in any discomfort at all. He even laughed about it.

"Nah, Chopper got some good meds after the fight, and I've been patched up enough to know this ain't even gonna slow me down."

"Uh," Sharn seemed to hesitate, adding her own casualty to the table, "Hickman died last night. One of the Raiders on the upper floors hit him, apparently."

"He did die?"

Kyle nodded. "Chopper told you then?"

Abigail nodded.

"We thought he might make it. The bullet only got his bad side." Kyle tapped his chest to illustrate. "But it went right through. We didn't get Chopper to him in time."

Abigail sighed and closed her eyes, sipping the warm drink. "She said she thought she could heal him."

Rathley nodded. "Yeah, she was real pissy about that this mornin'."

"The rest of our cart made it okay though," Sharn assured her. "Lumps and scratches, and a few minor gunshots, but nothing lethal."

It was enough, Abigail thought, but she was grateful that the list wasn't longer. "What about you, Kyle?"

He shrugged, subdued, but trying to lighten the mood. "I'm fine. They didn't touch me."

"Lucky bastard," Rathley said with a smile.

"You're slow, old man."

Kyle stopped and turned back to Abigail. "By the way, you probably want this back."

He laid a knife on the table that Abigail instantly recognised as hers.

"You left it in a Heart."

000

While it was good to listen to her friends talk and bicker again, the company alone was not enough to keep Abigail indoors. They could tell her about the battle, and of the hunt for roaming Hearts that had lasted well into the evening, Abigail still had questions that they hadn't been able to answer.

Most important, to Abigail's mind, was what had happened to Stephanie. Abigail had passed out on that rooftop leaving the gunsmith alone with the Super Mutant she had called Manny, but as for what had happened after that the others couldn't say. She was alive, that much was certain, but the Mercs and Scavs in their army had been more worried about rounding up the remaining Hearts or claiming some loot on the sly.

Had the mutant simply sat and waited to be found? If so, then why? Abigail had half expected not to wake up at all after exhaustion had forced her to submit to Stephanie's request, and let the monster be.

Then again, Abigail was glad she had. She had been ready to tackle the creature off the roof, and if she'd risked it then she *wouldn't* have woken up again, regardless of whether she had succeeded or not. That much would have been certain.

So, what had been done with the Super Mutant, now that it was under Stephanie's care? And Erin's, if rumour was to be believed. How could they be remotely safe alone with a beast that had been shooting Brotherhood level explosives into their people?

No-one seemed to care much. The Mercs were too pre-occupied with licking their wounds and tallying up their scavenged bounty, while the townsfolk who had stayed and weathered the occupation, or who had been captured and since released, were laying claim to the finest houses and farms that their neighbours had abandoned.

Even Sharn seemed content to accept this new status quo. "If anyone knows, if would be Stephanie. She was captured by them. She knows him."

"But look at what they did! What if it's like Stockholm syndrome or something?"

Sharn had only looked at her in confusion. "Stock-what-syndrome? Abby, Erin's a smart girl. I'm sure she and Steph know what they are doing, whatever that is."

Abigail hadn't disagreed. She didn't want to fight, and she was too mentally drained to argue the point. It was Erin's decision, but Abigail still would have liked to know what had happened to them since the battle, and why they hadn't just killed the monster.

She'd thought of going back to the police station to ask directly, but before she'd even got close she had been ambushed by one of the groups of townies, rushing about to claim tools or goods they could use.

"Hey, hey are you Abigail? Hey guys! You know who this is?"

Abigail had stopped short, surprised that anyone would make such a fuss. "Uh, yes, that's me. Can I help you?"

"I told you!" said the young man excitedly. "She's the one who fought back the mutant on top of the station!"

Instantly the six strong mob had fallen on her, thanking her for 'saving the town', single-handed if you were to hear them go on.

"Seriously, did you fight it bare handed?"

"Damn, I thought you'd be taller. I nearly didn't recognise you without the jacket."

"We would have been dead if it weren't for you, girl. Anything you want, just ask."

"Guys, can't you tell she's out of your league?"

"I'm thanking her, asshole! She took a beating for us!"

"Yeah, you okay now? I got stimpaks if you need 'em?"

Abigail couldn't have got a word in edgeways if she'd tried, but she'd been caught off guard and thoroughly unprepared for this sort of treatment. Instead she backed up a step, her throat dry, and tried to do what Rathley managed so well. Act cool, and stay in control.

"Guys, hey!"

All six of them shut up as one.

She smiled a little. What do you know, she thought. It worked. "Thanks, but I have somewhere to be. Just... get this place back on its feet, okay?"

One of the more confident young men beamed back at her and nodded. "You bet, Miss. Come on boys, stop bothering her and get back to it."

Once they had swaggered away she let out a sigh. It was nice to be praised like that, but it didn't half make her nervous. If that was what was waiting for her at the police house - probably swarming with people as Erin restored order to the town - Abigail could put her questions off. She didn't want to think that it wasn't her business, but she could at least trust that they knew what they were doing.

And that they weren't going to lower their guard around 'Manny'.

So, as several of the townies had clearly been wondering, where exactly *was* she going?

Well, she did still have friends she wanted to check on, and they weren't too far from there.

000

The Seven Feet Under had never been a hive of activity in Abigail's experience, but now with reconstruction and recovery starting get underway the place seemed deserted even by that comparison. Not all of Corva's ghoul population had frequented the place, and Abigail had only really socialised with Christian's group of friends, or the few women she had met there like Celia.

Now the tables lay empty, a pack of cards or box of dominoes lying at each one, unmindful of potential theft. Who would have stolen a ghoul's meagre pastimes? Likewise the bar was lined with empty stools and chairs. Geoffrey, the grisly and grizzled barman, sat behind his counter with a glass of rotgut, paying no attention to the few ghouls within - who were either too uninterested in the town's reclaimed freedom or were physically incapable of helping out around the town.

"Uh, hi Geoff. Can I get a glass of sipping liquor please?"

Abigail was fond of the ghouls, but even then she'd never really liked Geoffrey. He was brusque and curt, and seemed to treat his job as owner of the clubhouse as a chore, even as he defended it like it was his own child. She didn't really want the drink, but he would think he was wasting his time if she asked a question without putting a cap his way.

Geoff huffed and hauled himself out of his chair to fetch the bottle. "Uhhh. One glass of liquor. That's a cap then."

Abigail nodded and handed over the bottle cap that she already had in her hand. "Um, is Christian here?"

Geoff rolled his eyes. "Nope. Off do-gooding. Celia's here though, 'course. You probably want to talk to her."

He pointed over behind the bar area to the settees, and true enough Celia was sat there. To her surprise, Kirren was with her. Abigail took her drink. "Thanks Geoff."

As ever Celia sat slightly hunched, but as upright and proper as she could probably manage. Kirren on the other hand lay sprawled against the back of the sofa, a glass of viciously clear spirit in her one hand.

Celia was quick to greet her when she appeared. "Habigail! Plhease, come and sit whith us?"

For someone so calm and gentle, this was the most animated that Abigail had ever seen Celia. Kirren, less so.

"Hey," the one armed Merc said with a tipsy smile, raising her glass as Abigail sat down on a chair opposite. "You did well, so I hear. What are you doin' here?"

Abigail put her glass down on their table. "I was going to see if Stephanie was okay, but since she's probably with Erin, and the police station is probably crowded..."

Kirren waved off her concern without a second thought. "Don't worry about them. They got it all sorted, apparently. Erin's got everyone she can running around and re-building, and sending out word that Corva's safe again. If there's one thing she does well, it's organising people."

"I whould be helping whith Christ'hian and Halbert as whell," Celia said, "bhut I fear I whould be in the whay."

Kirren agreed. "Yeah. It's not like we haven't done our bit already, anyway."

There was a trace of post-combat depression there, but Abigail guessed she would have felt the same if she had been set on the sidelines after the fight just because of a disability, rather than injury.

"So, you came here?" Abigail asked her. For someone who had played just as large a role in the fighting as she had, it seemed odd that a talented Merc like Kirren would have sought out the ghouls again when there was a whole town apparently eager to lavish praise upon them.

"You're here, aren't you?" Kirren quipped with a smile. She took a sip of her drink. "Celia, Geoff, they stuck around. They picked me up when I needed it when they could have stayed walled up here. It's better to have friends than flatterers, isn't it?"

That Abigail could agree with. "So what happened after I left? You look like you handled the Hearts better than I did." She flexed her left hand, poking from the sling.

Kirren see-sawed her head back and forth, seemingly not convinced. "I spend the rest of the fight stuck in that stairwell. I'm not used to close quarters gunfights yet, and there were dozens of those bastards. Oh, I killed enough of them, but I don't like all that popping-out-and-shooting-from-cover business, and you can only take so much ammunition. Thankfully I held out long enough for the cavalry to join me. And the last half dozen surrendered or suicided."

"And you didn't get shot," Abigail noted.

"Not for want of trying. And I'm covered in bruises from that stairwell wall."

"Khirren was saying," Celia added, steering the conservation forwards rather than back to the fight, "that Herin whill be harranging prhoper payments once hall the whork hassignments are mhade. Hand what to do whith the Hearts' mhutant. Hit was strhange to see one so hunlike hourselves."

Abigail's eyes widened. "You saw it?"

Celia nodded. "He is quhite lharge, isn't he? There whas mhuch debate habout him lhast nhight."

"Debate? Like what?"

"Whether he gets shot. He's not the only Heart we took alive, and that was Erin's reason for not having him executed on the spot. Which kept the more vocal Mercs from objecting."

Oh, how Abigail would have objected if she had been in any state to do so.

"And look at him. Erin probably wants to keep him for the same reason the Hearts did."

"But he's a monster!"

Celia's expression dropped into something so sorrowful that Abigail could guess what she was going to say even before she said it.

"Whe were human once."

And that just wasn't fair. "No! Celia, no, you're nothing like that creature! He shot rockets at us!"

"He also took a bullet to the chest and two more to the stomach, un-armoured, and lived to tell about it. He could do the work of ten men putting this town back together. Would you complain if he was on your side?"

"But he's not," Abigail went on. She couldn't afford the luxury of doubt. Not when those creatures had slaughtered their way through her vault, cost Kirren her arm, killed Jassic, Simon and Vas, and even been the reason Old Bert had died under friendly fire. "He's *not* on our side."

Kirren shrugged. "Well, we'll both get to have our say tomorrow."

"Huh?" Abigail looked up at her.

Kirren blinked and began to smile again, realising Abigail hadn't yet been told. "Erin's got a dozen of us on the list to decide how to sort this town out, Abby. From scratch, just about. And you certainly made your mark yesterday. You were already something of an icon, and now you're a town hero too. The Townies like listening heroes. How could Erin could get away with *not* inviting you?"

000

After that Abigail chose not to visit the station after all. The situation had been taken out of her hands once she had passed out on the roof, and if Erin and Stephanie were putting the mutant issue up for debate then they were both none the worse for their encounter with it. She could scarcely believe they were considering that 'Manny' could be trusted, or even just easily leashed, and Abigail would say as much if her voice could be counted, but that would not happen until tomorrow. If she went to see them now the topic would undoubtedly come up, and she did not want to quarrel with either Erin or Stephanie yet. For now she was just content knowing that they were safe and sorting out their affairs, whether she got to see them or not.

Instead Abigail spent what remained of the morning with Kirren and Celia. Christian, Albert and Nigel had joined them for something to eat, but after that Abigail left Kirren and the ghouls to their afternoon. The pain in her shoulder had started to become more than just an inconvenience, and she had returned to her room in the house she and her Scav companions had been given to get herself a stimpak.

The anaesthetics had done their job well. She had intended to visit several other old acquaintances to see how they had survived the invasion, if indeed they had, but after lying down to let the stimpak kick in it became too much effort to leave again. Instead she dozed through the afternoon, and was woken when Sharn had brought her some dinner.

"Wha..? I fell asleep?"

Sharn had just nodded and sat next to her on the bed, a bowl of rat-meat broth in her hands. "You probably still needed it."

"Uhg. I'll never sleep tonight now."

And she had been right. The moon was high in the sky by the time she gave up trying, and ventured out into the cold air. She left her shades on the bedroom table and pulled her jacket around her shoulders as best she could to ward off the night time chill, but when she reached the first of the farm pens to the east, only a few minutes away from the house, she knew she would not be staying out long.

Still, the extra rest seemed to have done her good, allowing the stimpak to work its chemical magic on her shoulder while she had slept. It still hurt, quite badly, but it was a much less sharp pain than it had been the night before, or that morning.

"What are you doing out?"

Chopper's voice made her turn, completely unprepared to meet another soul out in the darkness, least of all her. While Abigail could see well enough by the moonlight, Chopper carried her PipBoy with the green light turned back on again. It made for a poor torch, only lighting up a few feet of the darkness, but it was better than nothing and it didn't hurt her eyes. The fact that the woman had it again made Abigail frown, but she had forgotten it herself when she had gone out that morning.

"I spent all afternoon in bed. I had to get out."

Thankfully Chopper didn't seem to care, and if it had been an accusation she let it drop. "And you come *here*?"

Chopper looked out over the brahmin pens, and to the rows of dry but not quite dead grain. Abigail hadn't gone there specifically. She'd just started walking, and this was where she could see between the now sparse buildings to the desert beyond. The flat expanse was strangely beautiful by moonlight, Abigail had found.

"Why not? And how come *you* aren't in bed? I thought you didn't get any sleep last night."

"I didn't," Chopper replied, leaning on the wooden fence of the brahmin pen. "I finished putting the last of our Mercs back together before it got dark. Then I heard you muttering to yourself next door. Then I heard you leave."

Abigail turned back to the view of the desert. "I'll head back when I'm ready. I need the air."

"Who said I was taking you back? I haven't had a chance to talk to you since last night."

"Talk? You came out here in the dark to talk? About what? I thought Erin was the one you'd want to be spending your time with now?"

Chopper laughed. Enough to worry Abigail. "What?"

"I guess people would think that, wouldn't they. But you know what I think of her, Abby."

"You slept with her!"

Chopper nodded. "I gave her what she thought she wanted." Chopper's smile turned ironic. "I pretended. I think we both wished I hadn't given in, after the fact."

"W-what? If you hurt her..."

"She wanted me to love her. So I did. I gave her everything I had. And she knew I was faking it all. She took it harder than I expected." Chopper sighed, her smile having vanished now. "So, I doubt she'll be bothering me again."

That was... weird. Hadn't Erin *wanted* Chopper back, at any cost? "What? She just changed her mind? You had to have done something!"

Chopper gave her a sidewise glance. "You two are opposites, pretty much, but you're both still naive. Romantic. She wanted romance. She wanted to be in love again, not to be fucking someone and having to make believe. She's too sensitive for that, at least in the bedroom."

"You knew she'd be upset, then."

"You don't approve?"

"Of course not!" Abigail fumed. "You're so cruel!"

To her surprise Chopper actually nodded in agreement, but her face was dark. "I know what I am. Better than you do, Abby. And I know I can make mistakes. I wanted to make the break with Erin, make my point, but I didn't want her to end up crying in our bed." She paused for a moment. "I didn't want you to hate me like this either."

Abigail wanted to object, but Chopper forged ahead, clearly intent to say what she had in mind. "You were acting like a petulant child, and I'd told you what you were getting into. You did it anyway, and you thought you could do it behind my back."

"Like you'd have reacted any different!"

Chopper clearly had no answer for that. "... Maybe not. But you paid for your mistakes, during a crisis no less. That's pretty impressive."

Abigail didn't know what to think of that. So she scoffed. Chopper had conceded the high ground, so Abigail could retaliate. "Impressive, but not worth an apology?"

"You wouldn't be willing to forgive me if I apologised, so I'll save my breath until you are." Chopper's response was hard, but not unfeeling. Abigail couldn't tell if it was accusing or hurt, or a mixture of the two. "And I think you *can* forgive me. I'll stick around for that."

Abigail watched as Chopper stood up straight again and turned away. "Don't stay out too long, or you'll catch a chill." She held up the PipBoy. "I'll leave this in your room."

She walked back leaving Abigail still agitated, but now more than a little confused.

000

Erin arranged a smaller meeting than Abigail had expected that following day, nine people in all, and there were few faces among them she did not recognise. Some like Stephanie were notable merchants or labourers, while there were several who had a vested interest in the towns politics or trade. The remaining two had played a visible and decisive part in the fighting; Kirren and Abigail herself.

The surprise was that, of the fighters, it was only the two of them to be invited. Even Rathley, popular with the township despite his lax morals, had not been included. Abigail could have thought of many other people more suited to take her seat, but as Kyle had said, they hadn't stood up on the edge of the police station to signal their victory. She hadn't really intended it to be taken like that at the time, but apparently it had made an impression.

At the far side of the table sat Erin, Lilis, and the man Abigail knew as the announcer from the town's rat fights. He was, it turned out, responsible for all the sports evens in Corva, bloody or not, and he gesticulated furiously as he explained his concerns.

"Without a draw to bring people *back* we wont be *able* to repopulate. The farms are withering from neglect, and even if we find enough people to man them they have never provided enough product to trade with *outsiders*. And if our remaining township are farming, who is making and maintaining the goods and services we can trade with the caravans?"

Erin's answer was succinct, but not without concern. "The Hearts left us supplies and arms, and we've come through the fight with less bounty grabbing than I'd expected. Financially, the short term isn't too much of an issue. If we can't *feed* people, then they can't live here, and the farms are valuable enough that they can be given to the families who supported most during the occupation without need to further 'reward' them."

"And the water caravans?" the Rat Man asked.

"They need no incentive to do business here. And the pump house can supply those of us already here, at least." Lilis' analysis was cold, but made a lot of sense. "The farms will have to trade for water for crops and the brahmin, of course, but they will also be the few with resources to trade with. The five farms here supported this town at full strength, on a good year."

Bason sat along the side of the table, opposite Abigail and Kirren, next to the two men Abigail had never met. One had been Mayor Golway's right hand man in expanding the town, while the other was the Trade Master, and the man who organised the caravans and settled resource disputes. It was he who spoke up next.

"And if we have a bad year?"

The man was not one for excessive talk, it seemed. Abigail hadn't even caught his name. But he had a sterling presence at the table, and a soft but absolute way with his words.

"Then we sell the armoury surplus." Erin sighed. "We have no town guard to arm with it, and I will not hire in more mercenaries to fill the posts left by the last lot."

She turned to Abigail and Kirren. "I trust that the ones we have are capable enough, for now."

Kirren arched an eyebrow. "I doubt most of us would turn tail and run, if that's what you mean."

Bason agreed. "They wouldn't be here if they were that sort. Especially if the spoils are generous."

In fact, the spoils Erin had promised now were more than just generous. As long as the Mercs were willing to add their loot to the town pot, both an equivalent of one thousand caps would be awarded to each in spoils, and a home within the town. An actual home, furnished and maintained to a liveable standard, for life. There were enough houses belonging to the confirmed dead to make it feasible, but each one would be worth far more than the owner's share of spoils. Houses were not often bought in the wasteland. They were inherited, or built with sweat and blood. Most in Corva had been built well for scrap and clay constructions, and an unneeded house might be worth a fortune, either to a wealthy artisan or by way of renting to travellers, longer term.

And if the owner could not be bothered to try and get an unwanted property to make money, the town would be happy to buy it back for a reasonable price, though notably less than its real worth.

"We will just have to trust that policing will not be needed in full beyond organising security for the farms, and issuing supplies."

Erin took a deep breath. "Right, no other concerns there? Next. The Super Mutant."

"Manny," Stephanie corrected.

Abigail tensed, making her stimpak-anesthetised shoulder ache, but Erin nodded. "Manny. Firstly, our positions here should be clear. Raise your hand if you think he and the other captured Hearts should be executed."

It was a no brainer. Abigail raised her hand. To her surprise, so did Erin. Even more shocking, Kirren did not.

The vote was split five to four in favour of not killing them. Bason and the trade master were the other two in favour, but they were not Erin's focus. "Why I want them dead is obvious. I expected not to get my revenge at the end of this, but I didn't expect to be outvoted so soon. I would like to know why the rest of you are so willing to be lenient."

"Simple," the Rat Man said. "The raiders surrendered. They belong to us now, and the mutant is improbably valuable, even as nothing but a freak show attraction. People won't come here to see ghouls, but they'll flock to see that creature!"

"He's a liability," the trade master retorted, clearly appalled. "Raiders should not be tolerated. A raider that could demolish a Merc troop single-handed, doubly so!"

Abigail agreed wholeheartedly. "Even if they are people," she exclaimed, looking specifically at Stephanie, "they don't do anything but kill! They killed everyone in my vault, and all they cared about afterwards was that we didn't have enough supplies for them to steal! This one decided that joining up with the Hearts was a good idea!"

Erin looked at the five forgiving men and women. "My father was a lenient man, but if he hadn't been so trusting he might not have been abandoned by his own guards and left to die."

"Raiders are nor irredeemable," Kirren said, calmly breaking the brief moment of thought that followed. "A rare few might not even like what they do. They're people, and what the town is lacking right now is people. A workforce. The Hearts as a gang may well not recover from this attack, and if they do it won't be for many years. What you have are six people whose lives depend on your good grace, and another who could do the work of ten men in rebuilding the south side. If he had enough principles to try and protect Stephanie and the other captive women from the Hearts, then he might be willing to do some good out here."

Stephanie immediately leapt on the chance to voice her opinion. "Manny was part of an army, on the other side of the Cobalt Line. He was trained to kill humans, but his army was beaten, and the Mutant that he calls 'The Master' was killed. He and his friends fled this way, fighting off the Brotherhood until he got to the Cobalt Line. Only four of his group made it there. One was killed by some sort of nightmare creature in the Line, and the Hearts were the first people he, Paxel and Brute stumbled on when they got to this side. He's the only one left now, at least from his group.

"If that had been you, and the Hearts made you a deal to keep you fed and teach you about this side of the Line, wouldn't you have taken it?"

Bason looked at Stephanie long and hard. "He looked after you girls?"

Stephanie nodded. "Paxel didn't care so much - he didn't like any humans apparently, which is why the Hearts kept him guarding outside - but Manny tried to help."

"Yes," Lilis said, her voice dark. "There were a few of those women the raiders didn't get to rape."

"He tried!" Stephanie implored.

Lilis raised a placating hand. "I know. A few spared is better than none. I'd keep him and kill the others, if that were an option."

"It's not, Lilis," Erin replied. "If this town wants mutant equality, it has to live with it all the way."

"I know."

Then, from the back of the room, the creak of a door opening stopped the debate as Manny squeezed himself through the small doorframe.

"Manny! You're not supposed to be here."

The Super Mutant ignored Stephanie and walked in, causing the trade master to flee his chair with a cry. Manny removed the empty chair and sat in its place.

"We're not so bright any more, after the dip. We know it. And humans're nothing but trouble. 'specially vault people." He stared at Abigail. "But we don't want to die. We don't have an army no more. The Hearts were a good army, seemed like. It was nice being strong again."

"You killed my best friend," Bason accused as he sat next to the lumbering giant.

Manny nodded. "You killed mine too. Killed him first. Doesn't matter. If you don't kill me, I'll fix what I broke."

"And why would we consider trusting you?" Erin asked.

Kirren knew the answer to that. "Because he *is* going to die, whatever happens. Everyone is talking about the Brotherhood's conspicuous absence, but they will be here eventually. And if he runs he'll be caught and gutted by someone sooner or later. He was a Heart, so the Diamonds won't take him in, with their pride. And even if he did turn on us eventually, everyone would be on guard for it. He'd be gunned down before he got out of town."

"You hide me when Brotherhood comes," Manny said. "Say I got away. You said me and Hearts belong to you now? It's true. You keep me, I work for you. I can be loyal to you instead, long as you keep me secret."

"And you trust him, Steph?"

"Yes. I trusted him with my life."

Erin nodded. "Then the question is: Who is going to divide opinion out there when we put him and his 'friends' to work."

And as much as she might have wanted to, just out of spite, Abigail would never have had the heart to object. As scared as she might have been of what could happen, Corva needed a united front to stand behind as it recovered. She looked to Stephanie's hopeful eyes, then Bason's resigned ones, and finally to Kirren and her confident, knowing gaze, and she remained quiet. It wasn't the hardest thing she'd ever had to do, but right then it felt like it wasn't far off.

000

Abigail had few opinions to give after that, but her opinions had only really been required for a few of the matters being brought to the table. She was there to endorse whatever decisions were made, a mostly objective outsider in matters of politics and commerce, and a voice that people would be willing to listen to after the crisis.

Erin would be announcing their plans soon enough, but not all of them stayed to take their supportive stand beside her. While the town planner's role was clear, and his appearance with them largely unnecessary, Lilis also departed with few words after the meeting was done. It was clear that she, probably more than anyone else besides the trade master, would be acting as Erin's advisor when it came to matters of people and politics, but her sudden disappearance made Abigail wonder. What exactly was Lilis going to be doing now? If she wasn't going to make a visible role for herself as a trusted aide to the new Mayor, what did they have in mind for their working relationship?

Was Lilis going to remain a prostitute, locked away until either her customers or the town paid for her? Surely this was a chance to move on from that. Unless she was owned in the same way Kyle's old girlfriend had been. A sobering thought.

"Hey, don't look so down."

Stephanie came over to her as those of them who were left waited for the announcement to begin from within the police house. She wore her iconic straw had again, looking far more alive and vibrant than the tired and anxious woman she had been only a few days before. "I know you don't like him, but he's not as bad as a lot of people I've met, you know?"

"Huh? Oh. I wasn't thinking about... Manny."

Stephanie smiled and sat down next to her. "Liar. But I think being around people like us will be good for him."

Abigail didn't know about that, but she had to try and give the mutant a chance. It had already been decided, and if ghouls like Celia could identify with a monster like that... maybe Abigail's anger towards them was too deeply rooted to be healthy. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to talk about him. I was thinking about Lilis. You don't know her much, do you?"

Stephanie shook her head. "Nope. Even Erin doesn't. Not really. There's some story about how she ended up being the town negotiator, apparently, but I've never heard it. And Erin either doesn't know, or doesn't want to tell. I mean, she said Lilis never got out much. That's what's got you down?"

"Sort of. It was never like this in the cinema. We beat the bad guys, but there's still a lot to do before everything's back to normal."

"That's life. Don't worry about it so much, Abby. We're grown hardy out here. Here."

She held out her hand, and in it were two grenades. Abigail stared down at them, a little lost.

"You never used them. So they're a thank you, for rescuing me. And for getting shot up for my home." She was wearing an infectious smile. "Just don't go throwing them at people's faces, point bank. If it had gone off on impact we'd *all* have died. Risky, Abby."

"It was all I could think of at the time."

"Well, be glad it worked. I sure has hell am."

000

"So, they're keeping the mutant then?"

Chopper's voice was unconcerned, but by now Abigail welcomed that. She had been bombarded with approval and appreciation all afternoon, after Erin's public announcements. The girl had made a point of mentioning Abigail's vault, and how even now tolerance could win out in the face of surface hardships.

God, she had been angry at that. It was hideously manipulative, but it worked. Manny had been trotted out like a prized catch after that, to pledge his service to the town after his mistakes. The Hearts that had followed, offered servitude or death, had been a footnote by comparison. None had chosen to die.

And Abigail had borne it. Erin was right, after all. That one mutant was worth more to the town than any kind of bartering resource. It was a quick ticket to recovery, with a sword of wasteland prejudice hanging over its head to keep it in line. Corva was the perfect place for it to seek asylum. Too bad it had tried to destroy it.

Abigail hadn't looked up as the intruder had entered her room. She just kept quiet and tried to shrug off her jacket, so that the doctor had access to change her dressings.

"Honestly, I'm surprised," Chopper continued when an answer to her question was not forthcoming. "Erin doesn't have her father's fondness for wasteland unfortunates. I guess this one is more useful than the ghouls."

Abigail sighed. "You didn't used to talk this much."

"... I did. But you were the one trying to make conversation, back then."

That was true enough. It was the Buffout that had turned her into a recluse, almost. But she was wiser now, and as such there was less to talk about. And the combination of her injuries and Chopper's painkillers had blurred the line between recovery and her lingering withdrawals.

"It's decided Chopper. There's nothing to talk about. And they're right. I don't like it, but they are."

"Welcome back to adulthood." Chopper smiled as she undid Abigail's bandages. "And you could have disagreed, but you let them decide instead. She wouldn't have done that in your place."

"And neither would you. I get it."

"Maybe. Depends how worthwhile the result is. She's risking a run-in with the Brotherhood." Chopper's eyes narrowed. "That's sure as hell not worth getting caught on, but damn well worth getting away with."

Apparently Manny himself didn't come into the equation at all in Chopper's mind. "And the *mutant*?"

The doctor shrugged. "I've banked on *Rathley* watching my back."

That was a poor comparison in Abigail's eyes, and unfair, but Rathley *had* actively got them into trouble, and very nearly killed.

And Chopper was doing this to try and draw her out again. Trying hard to be friends. Commendable no matter how annoying it was, but Abigail wasn't to be swayed.

"Rathley's better than that. Maybe the way I thought *you* were..."

Chopper's pleasant expression dissolved into a blank glare. "Ouch."

"But even if he's not, he wouldn't kill a family out of greed."

Chopper replaced the dressings around Abigail's wound before beginning to tie the bandage again, and resuming the conversation. "He's done as bad. Believe me, he'll kill out of *convenience* if he feels like it. But he's clever, at least. He'll give himself a way out. *We* were that way out in Micasa."

"Then why do you stick around with him?"

"You know the reason for that."

Abigail did. He was one of the best survivalists out there, if rumour was to be believed. For a Scav team, that was the most important skill available. "There's not much to talk about then. You can stop trying to win me over. It won't work."

To her surprise, Chopper seemed to relax a little. "Then you won't be the first woman to walk away from me, if that time comes. I'll survive, but I won't be pushed away just yet. You have too much potential to throw back into the water."

Abigail huffed. Petty or not, she didn't want Chopper enjoying her attempts at revenge. "I'm flattered," she replied with more than a touch of sarcasm. "I didn't realise I was that good in bed."

Chopper's amused eyebrow rose. "You learn quickly. But with all that drive behind you it'd be a shame to leave you without anywhere to go. That's Erin's problem. She knows what she wants, but she can't do it for herself. She needs approval. People to take her there. You? You'll charge in on your own. But you don't know where to charge to, do you?"

"Chopper, stop it. Please." I don't need you people trying to psychoanalyse or flatter me when I'm trying to work out what I want!

Chopper did as she was told and stepped back, her work done. "As long as you understand. We can show where you might want to go, if you need the help."

000

Abigail's worry was that, even now, she was reliant on people like Chopper and Rathley for guidance. She had spent several months living on the surface, but in all that time what did she know of her options? She could not stay in Corva, that much was clear. Rathley's group had taken her along because she had proven herself to be more than a Townie, and she had enough ego to feel that she could do better than that.

Daily life on the farms in the town of Robert had been informative, but they had lacked something. Simply surviving did not bring her the same satisfaction as travelling with Sharn had her friends had done. Likewise, the weeks of leisure in Willets High had been made bearable by her friends there, both her current group and Casey's, but without them her introspections and worries would have driven her insane.

Thinking about it, the same was true of Corva. She loved the town more for its friendly ghouls and their aged stories than for its human populace.

Of all its permanent residents, Bason was perhaps her best human friend there, and he was working all hours of the day now that he had been placed in charge of rebuilding. He and Jassic had been building merchants for the town, as well as Mercs, and with all the others having either fled or been killed Bason was now the single man in charge. Abigail suspected he was burying his grief in his work, but he had still given her time to talk briefly when she had sought him out.

Frankly, there wasn't a nicer man who could have been given the position. He balanced out the coarseness and apathy of the people around him.

If she was to live there though, would the few people like him be enough to keep her going? By scraping together a living through maintenance and rebuilding old technology she could probably take over the town's entire Scav shop trade single-handedly, and to be fair it was tempting.

Just not tempting enough. Not when it would mean having Sharn and Kyle leave her behind. They were the people she wanted to help most. The people she owed the most to. If they were going to head out again and resume their scavenging, she wanted to lend her technical expertise to the search. It would mean living with Rathley and Chopper again, but that was okay. Rathley might be mean, and his priorities were pretty screwed up, but he was nice enough to her. And Chopper was trying to be friendly. Abigail knew she would never get back once she had felt for the older woman, those days were long gone, but she could at least try and be reasonable. She had always complained in the vault when the other girls had got bitchy over fights and disagreements, and that's exactly how Abigail had been behaving over the entire Buffout issue. Not that it wasn't justified, but she wanted to be better than holding grudges like this. Especially if they would have to be living together.

000

But there was only so much time for these worries as she went about town. She still did not know what Sharn and Kyle wanted to do; they had been busy helping out around town like everyone else. While there was still paid work to do no-one was considering leaving just yet. Granted, the payment was in abandoned town supplies and rations rather than ammunition or caps, but it was better than most day to day fare that a Merc or Scav had to be willing to accept between jobs. Even Kirren, unable to take on the manual labour, made for devastatingly effective impromptu law enforcement in her commanding green armour.

As for Abigail, she sought out those people she had not had the courage to find before the announcement. Bason was busy, but willing to lend both an ear and his own advice, and after fighting along side him at the Diamond Ring she had hunted out Lyster to thank him for his part in the battle. He didn't have the time or inclination to chat as he gathered up abandoned supplies with another of his Merc associates - he had no time for 'heroes' - but he had at least approved of her part in the fighting as well.

The graves had been dug for the fallen, beside the police station's open yard, making a small second cemetery. The graves almost reached the triple figures, but compared to the one to the south it was very modest, and Abigail paused at only a few of the graves. Trevor and Simon were there, as were Vas, Jassic, and Hickman, and beside them lay others like Erin's father, and "Marge - The toughest old bitch in the Wastes".

That was what had led Abigail to the brothel, still named Marge's by the inactive electric sign on its roof. Abigail had meant to visit Lilis before, and Marge's apparent death during the invasion only made her wonder more about the woman's situation.

The door was missing, the brothel being located in the more damaged part of town, and behind Marge's old desk sat the muscular man Abigail remembered as her bouncer.

"Um, Hi there, uhh..."

"Stanley," he replied, when his name did not come to her lips. "A pleasure again, Miss Abigail."

"I don't suppose I could speak with her, could I?"

Stanley smiled and sat back. "That would depend on which 'her' it was. Sadly not all our women survived the attack, and some who did decided not to return after you liberated them from the Hearts."

That Abigail had not needed to think about. "Lilis. I mean Lilis. She is still here, isn't she?"

Stanley nodded. "That she is. Though she, and all of us in fact, have a little more freedom over who we choose to see these days."

"You... work here too?"

Again, a nod and a knowing smile. "That depends on who might be asking. I certainly wouldn't mind if *you* asked."

Abigail flushed in embarrassment. "Uh, no thanks. I'm not... Can I just talk to Lilis please?"

Stanley chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort, and pushed a discoloured glass dish forward across the table. "Her time is a lot more valuable than the rest of ours."

Abigail groaned. She hadn't brought much in the way of valuables. The farmers and merchants were still gearing up for proper trade, and Market Street was still largely bare.

"Right. Of course. And me without my wallet." She fished into her jacket pocket with her good hand and pulled out a few caps. "Can you just give her another message for me then?"

"That I can. And you've probably earned one on the house."

Abigail left the caps in the dish anyway. It wasn't as though she didn't have enough of them now. "Just tell her I hope she's okay up there. And that someone working for Erin deserves better than this."

Stanley nodded and left to deliver the message, and Abigail headed back out to the street. Lilis would probably think she was being presumptuous anyway, but she could at least show that someone cared.

Then, from behind her, a piercing whistle rang out, and she looked up to see Stanley at one of the upper windows. To her surprise he motioned her up, without a word.

000

"So what was it you wanted to see me about, Abigail?" Lilis asked. "Not just the fact that I am keeping my own room, I suspect."

Lilis looked as well turned out as always, dressed in a simple, flattering shirt and loose brahmin-hide trousers. She sat on her large bed, while Abigail took the single, fur-padded chair.

"You were just quiet at the meeting," Abigail said honestly. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"And you were hoping I might have turned over a new leaf now that the Madam has passed on?"

"I didn't mean it quite like that. But yes," Abigail admitted, "I thought you'd be working with Erin now, instead of here."

Lilis seemed entirely unconcerned by her living arrangements though. "She knows where to find me when she needs my skills. Until then, I will keep this brothel running and make sure that those of us here are well taken care of."

Abigail blinked, a little confused. "What do you mean? Are you running it with Stanley?"

Lilis shook her head. "No-one is 'running' Marge's any more. She kept us well enough, but the leash was rather tight - especially mine - considering that we all worked here willingly. Now that we've been given the opportunity, we have done away with the leash entirely, and we won't be lining anyone's pockets but our own."

"Officially, Stanley is in charge in case of disputes," she went on, "but we will all contribute to the house pot, and we know each other well enough to help each other out should any one of us have a poor week. My prices are high enough to keep us solvent, even if only one or two of my more regular clients ever return. And we have a reputation to maintain. We intend to remain the best company you can buy within three caravan rides."

Kyle probably would have disagreed, Abigail thought, but then again that was just because of one woman in particular. "At least you take pride in your work, I guess."

"Abby, you aren't still trying to pity us are you?"

"But is this really how you want to make money? Sex with anyone who can pay?"

Lilis shook her head slightly, and it was clear that she was the one who pitied Abigail. "We wouldn't need a man like Stanley to man the desk if we were that indiscriminate. And some of us can be more choosey than others. From here on, some might only take on the few regulars who they trust. And you should know, Abby, that sex is a powerful tool if you use it well. And only as meaningful as you want it to be."

"You *don't* want it to be meaningful?"

"Certainly not with everybody willing to pay my fee. But with some, yes, it is. I will be upset if they don't return, and not just because of their caps."

She stood, and went over to lay a hand on Abigail's shoulder. "And I'll stay to make sure that the prostitutes in this town are treated properly. If they aren't, I can do something about it. Even if I can't deal with a situation myself, or if the whole house can't, my relationship with Erin works both ways. No-one else will do that for us. We're just whores. That's why I stayed here when Mayor Golway first offered me a way out. The people out there may not care about men and women like us, but *I* do."

She straightened up, and smiled. "Is that a good enough answer?"

"Yeah."

000

It was several days before the town had settled down into something of a routine, and those who had fled had begun to return. News travelled slowly across the desert, especially considering how few people relied on radio transmitters. Abigail had been stunned to realise that her PipBoy was perhaps the best transmitter in town, especially after the old Mayor's set had been destroyed by the grenade that had claimed Jackhammer's life, and while she would be wearing her sling for a while to come sending out an all clear message was one of the things she could usefully do for Corva.

Of course, the returnees were unhappy to find their homes ransacked. Whether it had been the Hearts or Erin's repossession teams was irrelevant. Any goods they had not taken with them, they had lost. But, as the new Mayoress had stressed, they still had their homes, and unlike many brave men and women who had stayed to defend the town, they still had their lives as well. Any who were unwilling to accept their loss could leave, and forfeit their residences as well. There were others who could be given the shelter.

Perhaps that was why she and Chopper had got on so well in the past. They could both be absolute bitches when the need arose, yet fully capable of justifying their ruthless decisions.

There was even word that the Brotherhood of Steel was finally on its way, almost a week after the town war had been won, and that stung Abigail a little. People reputed for their technological capabilities surely had an obligation to help those who needed their aid. Their medical expertise alone would have been invaluable to the fight, never mind their firepower.

So, they wander over now that the people they could have saved were already dead. Either they must have really busy schedules, or they were as callous as Chopper made them sound.

Which seemed wrong. For all his genetic elitism, Initiate Harris had been a nice person.

Still, that was what had pushed Abigail to take her companions aside, now that the town was gaining more able bodies again. Manny the Super Mutant was stomping around town, taking orders from Bason and his team, and these Brotherhood of Steel people were only another week's travel away, according to her radio reports.

Abigail wanted to leave.

She loved Corva dearly, but if she was honest with herself it was only for a certain part of its populace. That was why she wanted their talk to be over dinner at the Seven Feet Under. That way she could explain herself to her ghoul friends as well.

"I mean, I thought I'd want to stick around, even without a place to stay. It might have been nice to do some more scavenging around here, maybe? Hunt down some of the Hearts that fled. But with all the building going on, and... Manny out there. It feels too much like it's still a battlefield. Every time I see that mutant, I can't stop thinking about everyone back in the Vault. I just don't want to stay."

She almost felt like she was apologising, which wasn't the point at all. At least not as far as her companions were concerned. She was just explaining that she *was* going to leave.

"And what, you want us along, Sugar?"

Rathley, as blunt and to the point as ever. He spoke around a mouthful of overcooked Pigrat roast, there being a surplus since most of the fighting rats had been killed for sport by the Hearts.

And as usual, Sharn rolled right over his question. "Of course we'll go. Right gunner-man? I mean, if you want us to."

"Of course I want you to." If Sharn and Kyle hadn't wanted to come, Abigail wasn't quite sure what she would have done, but she had expected it wouldn't come to that. "It's just, I want to go before the Brotherhood arrive. Initiate Harris said I should have joined them, after we first fought the Hearts before, and I don't want to deal with that again. Especially if everyone here is hiding Manny as well. That all seems like a bad idea to me."

"Join the Brotherhood?" Rathley exclaimed, genuinely surprised. "Damn, now there's an offer. What makes you think that'd be a bad idea?"

"Because!" Abigail exclaimed right back. Given that they were dining in the company of ghouls, she would have thought it was obvious. "You heard what he said about people like Christian and Celia! And Lilis, even."

Christian seemed glad to hear it. "Yeah, worrisome types, them lot. Lots'a guts and lots'a brain, but I'd be afraid if they come walkin' through here."

"They hads a deal with the old Mayor," Nigel agreed, "but I hopes Erin gets to them before they decides otherwise, now he's gone."

"So," Rathley asked "you don't want to stay and look after these old corpses?"

Abigail scowled at him. "Of course I do!" She turned to the ghouls at their table. "Really, I do. I just think I would do more harm than good."

"Whe can sthand up fhor hourselves, if whe have to." Celia gave Abigail a ragged, understanding smile. "The Brhotherhood whould not harm us. Herin whould not hallow it, and Corvah is their hally. They know they have much to hexplain, hafter their habsence these last wheeks. Whe ghouls are a small cohncern beside that."

Across the table Kirren finally spoke. She had remained quiet all evening, but seeing as she still resided with the ghouls even after earning a new home they had invited her to join them.

"When are you leaving then? The Paladins will be here by Friday, I heard."

"I don't know. A day or two? I need to sell Erin back the house, and get supplies."

"You should keep it," Chopper advised. "It's good, guaranteed capital. Unless you're not planning on coming back."

"Oh, I am, but I'd rather stay here at the clubhouse if I do. Or with one of you guys. I'm sure the money could be used for better things."

"'Course you're welcome here," Christian said, wearing his five toothed smile.

Abigail expected an objection, but Chopper just shrugged, already done with her food.

Kirren, however, was not eating what remained on her plate. "Do you need another gun arm?"

Everyone turned to her, and Kirren met their gazes levelly. "I'm not so much use here now. The Hearts are gone, there have always been more than enough good Mercs around here, and I've pushed my luck several times too many working against the Diamonds." She raised the stump below her left shoulder. "They wouldn't take me like this anyway, even if I somehow managed to get in without being recognised again. You guys seem to get into a lot of fights for a Scav team though."

"You know, shit happens." That was Rathley's explanation, and sadly no-one could think of a better one.

"Well, if you want to..." Sharn said, looking around the table. No-one objected, least of all Abigail. She had grown to respect Kirren a great deal during the short time she known her, and it was safe to say that they had become friends since the battle. Having another friend travelling with them would make the journey all the more pleasant.

Rathley gave her a lop sided grin.

"Looks good, Sugar. Welcome aboard." Then he paused and turned to Abigail. "'Cept you haven't said where you're thinkin' of goin' here."

"Straight east, to High Town," was Abigail's reply, already knowing where she wanted her next destination to be. "Celia's diaries said they always need help with their tech, or caravan raiders. And I'd have thought there would be plenty of unexplored places to scavenge around the mountains, right?"

"Christ, way up there?"

Kyle was happy to look on the bright side. "What? At long as we don't try to skirt the Swarmlands to get there."

000

Abigail stood in front of her farewell party, her pack hanging from her good shoulder and her worn jumpsuit protected beneath the now recognisable layer of black leather. Only her jacket's missing right arm showed the slowly fading blue cloth, the cuff trimmed with bright, bold yellow.

It was a small connection to this dim past, but it gave the occasion a sense of camaraderie as she shook hands with Overseer Jameson. He was a busy man, and it meant a lot that he had come to see her off, if only briefly.

"You're sure this is what you want, Abigail? You have a promising future here."

"I know, sir. But you have other technicians. It's out there where I'll be needed."

He nodded, and let her hand go. He was a stern man, but not unreasonable. He knew she would not be swayed.

After that the pretence of formality faded, and her family came forward. Her Mother would have hugged her - she always fussed so much over everyone - if not for Abigail's broken clavicle. "Please be careful out there, Abigail. No more gun fighting."

Her father kept his composure more successfully, and lay a caring hand on his wife's shoulder. "All grown up, and choosing the hard path. And with another new friend in tow as well. Make us proud out there, understand?"

Abigail chose to reply with a smile and a sloppy salute. "Yes sir, Father sir."

"And don't go giving your friends that kind of lip, young woman. They've done a lot for you, taking you under their wing like this."

"I know, Dad. Lighten up. I'll save it for next time I come and visit."

When the goodbyes were said and done Gillian and Alice stood by the great vault door, waiting for her.

"So, you will be visiting then?" Of course, from Gillian it sounded like a casual enough question, uncaring even, but Abigail knew better. Gillian's brave face was good, but she didn't get to practice it enough to fool her.

"You'll miss me?"

Gillian shrugged. "Sure, why not. It won't be the same playing softball without you down here."

Alice, though quiet, was always the more honest of the three of them. "We'll go and watch something sappy tonight and bawl out eyes out. I hope you'll miss us too though. It's not nice being left behind, you know."

"Yeah. I know." Oh, did she ever know it. "I've done my bawling already, but yeah, I miss you guys. You're the best friends in the world. But I can't stay here forever."

"Of course not," Gillian replied with an assured smile, her dreadlocks bobbing. "You've got the whole world to explore. What are you even doing standing around here gabbing! Get going, girl!"

Yes. It was past time already. "Yeah. See you." She signalled to the control deck, and the great vault door began to move. It never occurred to Abigail that there should have been sirens and flashing lights to accompany it. This wasn't an escape or an exodus. It was just farewell.

"And bring us souvenirs next time!"

"Sure, I'll get you a rat-burger!"

And with that Abigail stepped back towards the waking world, out into the wasteland again, and back to the scavengers who were waiting for her.

000

The End

000

Author's Notes: My thanks go out to everyone who read this story. I hope you've all enjoyed it. And special thanks go out to all of you who left feedback. You were my incentive to keep working on this as often as I could. Yes, there is still a whole lot I could do, but that would require a second 'book', and there are too many other things I'd like to try writing before I even begin consider something like that.

As ever please leave a review with any comments and constructive criticism you may have. They are always greatly appreciated, and there is no better reward for a writer than to hear back from the readers.

Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

(c) Nutzoide 2010


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